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Pete rested in his bunk as the tour bus drove through the night. He stared up at the ceiling of his small coffin-like space. In his younger days it was easier to deal with. He was more inclined to stick with the coffin mentality. To pretend he was dead and this was his resting place, being transported to its final destination.
Now, years and a mixture of a lot of life and therapy later, he tried not to think like that. It was just a bed, not a box that he would be buried in. It was just a place of temporary rest, not permanent. The darkness didn’t mean death.
The darkness was a big reason why he now always brought a small string of lights to dimly illuminate his space. To remind him that he didn’t have to picture he was dead in the void anymore.
He also tried to focus on other things. The movement of the bus when it was in motion. The sounds of Patrick who was usually restless or working in the main shared space of the bus, but still just loud enough for Pete to hear. Or even the soft snores that would carry down from above him when Patrick did finally decide to sleep. Little reminders he was alive.
Especially after actually dying.
Pete shut his eyes. There was no longer a visible scar, but sometimes he swore he could still feel the way that hook that attached to Patrick’s hand ripped into his skin and punctured his insides. He could still feel the weight and the way his own weapon moved, stabbing into the flesh of his best friend in order to save the briefcase that they both wound up losing.
He exhaled a soft breath. Ten years. It had been ten years. Yet it sometimes felt so fresh. He wondered if the others thought about it as much as he did. If they felt the phantom pains as well. The flashes of memories.
He didn’t like to ask.
Especially Patrick.
Patrick had never brought it up over all this time, except once when they were all drinking after coming back. All he could do was cry and apologize. After that, he wouldn’t even acknowledge those few days of hell. He gradually began to take on more work outside of the band. Something to always keep him busy.
Pete could hear him typing now, at work on his computer in the back space of the tour bus rather than the front tonight. He had kept to himself most of the day, seeming irritated by any interaction and hiding his eyes behind dark sunglasses to make his baseline mood harder to read.
Pete rolled onto his stomach, crossing his arms under his chin as he continued to listen to the typing. The key hits seemed to be heavier than usual, not quite as fast as usual. He leaned to his side, extending an arm to move the curtain of his bunk and attempt to peek into the back space of the bus. Light seeped out through a small crack from the door being left ajar. He could hear a groan of frustration before indistinguishable muttering and more hard typing.
Pete sighed and dropped the curtain. He was once again shadowed by the barely held back darkness. Patrick sounded like he was still in his same irritated state. He didn’t want to add onto it by moving to sit quietly next to him while he worked. Usually it was an action Patrick didn’t mind. He sometimes even asked for Pete’s opinion on a piece of his project or take off his headphones to fall into a soft conversation, but that didn’t sound like an option tonight.
Tonight Pete was left to his own thoughts training back to death.
He could remember his last day so clearly. Those last moments. Running. Bleeding. Trying to reason with a friend that couldn’t hear him. All in the fading light of the day, meeting that final darkness as the sun fully faded from the sky. The sound of Patrick dropping to the ground beside him, saying something soft and sounding confused.
Then there was nothing.
Ten years since waking up in an elevator on the other side. Finding himself in heaven and reuniting with his best friends. Ten years since being given a mission from god and being sent back to live the lives that had been taken from them. Ten years.
Yet here he was, still thinking about dying in the dark.
“Stop stop stop!”
Pete’s eyes darted to the curtain at the sound of Patrick’s voice. Louder than before and shifted in tone. More desperate than frustrated, but the frustration was just at the edge of his words.
It wasn’t until the sound of something heavy falling in the other room with Patrick that Pete made the move to fully exit his dark space. “Patrick?” He called out as he pushed himself up to his feet.
“Pete?” Patrick sounded confused, “You-You’re supposed to be sleeping.” There was noise of quick movement and shuffling beyond the door. “Go to bed, Pete.” The last words were a bit harsher, stopping Pete from his forward movement towards the door.
“Are you okay?” Pete asked. The tone in that last sentence had stung Pete in a way he wasn’t expecting. He knew it was likely just a continuation of Patrick’s poor mood from the day, but that didn’t stop the sting. “I…I heard something fall.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Patrick sounded out of breath as more movement happened beyond the door. “I’m fine, everything is fine.”
Pete lingered where he stood, just two steps from the cracked door. Suddenly he was worried he was interrupting something other than work. “Uh, yea, sorry…I’ll just…yea…” He stepped back, realigning himself with his bunk.
A shadow moved into the gap left by the open door before it swiftly shut. No more sliver of light. Just the led strips along the floor in the hall casting shadows on the ceiling. Back to near darkness.
Pete stood there for a minute. He stared ahead at the door, letting darkness creep into the edge of his vision.
There was an empty feeling in his chest now. He didn’t want to think more about why. It was just a short exchange at the end of a busy day. It was a mood he already knew to expect. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t push other thoughts to his mind of the time right before separating, just to come back and die…Then come back and repeat the cycle… but that was how things began to connect.
He sighed, dropping down to a crouch and moving to crawl into his bunk. He shut the curtains and rolled onto his back. He stared up, thoughts swirling for awhile before shifting to his side, back to the curtain. He reached out and shut off his lights, casting himself into pure darkness.
Back into death in his coffin.
The next day happened at some point, Pete wasn’t sure when. He wasn’t sure if he slept at all. Eventually, he could just feel the bus stop. Then, after more time, his phone buzzed. Then he was outside of his bunk in a brighter space, throwing on a new outfit from packed clandestine and faking his way through the off day.
No show, just interviews and press runs before more tourist moments.
Pete spent as much time as he could off of the bus. Their hotel room for the day was going to be ready mid afternoon, but he would still have to visit the bus just before to grab a duffle bag.
He sat at a late lunch with Joe, starting to feel the weight of the bad night. He sipped his water as Joe checked his phone.
“Andy said he’d grab us a couple extra shirts from the gym since the laundry machine busted yesterday.” Joe said, setting his phone down on the table, “It should hopefully be fixed quick though. In the meantime we can look like we work out.”
“Fixed?” Pete tilted his head as he lowered his drink.
“Yea, something busted in it yesterday.” Joe replied, “Didn’t Patrick tell you? It was right when we were switching loads.”
“Oh.” Pete frowned, “No, we didn’t really talk much.” He shrugged, avoiding mentioning the incident from last night. He didn’t want to keep thinking about it, despite how much his mind had drifted to it throughout the day.
“Oh, he didn’t hold you captive at all yesterday?” Joe laughed. He reached out to a plate of fries that sat in the middle of the table. “He was kinda in a mood anyway. I assume because…well, you know.”
“What?” Pete’s brow furrowed.
Joe brought his eyes up to Pete. He finished chewing, but hesitated for a moment to speak. “The anniversary.” He finally said quietly. He rubbed his neck, letting his hand linger on his throat.
“It’s not Patrick’s anniversary.”
Joe narrowed his eyes. “Pete.”
“It isn’t though, right? Not that, not the hiatus break up or getting back together-“
“Pete.” Joe’s voice was firm to pull him from his rambling, but soft. “The ten year anniversary of…well…”
Pete stared at Joe as his words sank in. “Oh.” Ten years. He had just been thinking about it last night. Ten years almost to the day. He didn’t realize just how close it actually was to the day. He thought it was just on his mind because of the darkness and thinking of his own coping mechanisms. “Oh…”
“I mean, we just don’t talk about it.” Joe’s eyes were focused on his fork now as he nudged it back and forth with his finger. “You guys had a bit more time dealing with it than I did.”
“I mean… We don’t…” Pete bit his lip. Suddenly everything around them felt silent.it was just the two of them in this busy restaurant at the moment. “I never know if we should…but I think about it.”
“It was so fucked up.” The words tumbled out of Joe. “I mean, no one even tried to help me at the gas station. Then getting drugged and having kids throw rotten food? The food thing was probably the easiest part out of all of it, honestly. But then getting the shit beat out of us by different kids and getting picked up by that person that drove us to the hospital where…”
“The hospital…” Pete nodded. It was a turning point in all of it. The first loss in all of them winding up on the other side. He could remember so vividly stumbling into Andy before they both ran to find Joe and instead found…
“Partying with the devil was cool at least.” Joe sighed, “Weird hi-light, but…”
“Did you take the elevator down?” Pete asked.
Joe nodded, keeping his eyes on the fork he was still fiddling with. “Yea. Then they shoved me up some stairs and it got really bright…It really wasn’t long after I made it all the way up that Andy stepped out of the elevator… Andy and I actually talk about it a lot.”
“You do?”
Joe laughed. “Yea, I mean, it comes up. We have our own space and we just kind of…talk, sometimes, about it. I think he took my death harder than I did.” He stopped fiddling with the fork and brought his hand back up to his neck. “We don’t have to…I know we haven’t talked about it since…”
“I mean, I think about it.” Pete shrugged as Joe shifted his eyes over to him. “It was… fuck we went through too much to not just at least think about it. I mean, I didn’t even know Andy was dead until I was. He told me to run…” Pete could hear Andy’s yell so clearly in his head. How he was ready to hold everyone off while Pete ran with the case. That was his last time seeing one of his oldest friends. He could feel his eyes beginning to become watery with the memory. He quickly grabbed a napkin to dab it away. “Sorry…”
“Have you talked about it after that night?” Joe asked, “After coming back?”
Pete kept the napkin in his hand as he dropped it to the table. “I never wanted to make Patrick upset. I didn’t think you guys wanted to talk about it much either. It was just… traumatic in so many ways.”
“Andy says it still hurts to talk sometimes.” Joe’s voice was low with his words, “I feel it sometimes too, but I was just constricted, not…”
“We came back, but not without those invisible scars…” Pete’s hand dropped to his gut as he spoke. Those phantom pains that still struck at random times.
Joe nodded. “I still worry about Patrick but, like I said, we don’t talk about it after that first night getting shitfaced.”
Pete nodded, thinking back to that day.
They had all left that warehouse stumbling and covered in blood. It was over, just like that. Dead and alive again in the span of who knows how long, now finished with their divine mission and still somehow alive.
It was a lot. Pete remembered ringing in his ears after that blinding light he had shot at the entity they were sent back to stop. It was dusk when they stepped outside. The air was cooling and there was a slight breeze. He could remember shock and stares on his friend’s faces. A weight lifting from his chest while another one slid into its absent place.
Then they found themselves in a field with the stars above. A small fire in between them and multiple swiped alcoholic beverages scattered in the grass. Andy nursed a water while Patrick took down two and a half bottles to Joe and Pete’s single bottles. Soft conversation between sips, more and more tears streaming down Patrick’s face.
It was one thing to reunite in heaven at the end where things no longer felt real. It was another thing entirely to come back to earth and be met with the reality of your last actions.
“I have a number two and a number seven?”
Pete shook his head, suddenly back in the restaurant with Joe. Joe seemed just as taken off guard by the new voice entering their space. Pete could see tears rolling down his cheeks. Noticing that, he could also feel a wetness on his own cheeks.
“Number two and seven?”
Pete turned to the waitress that had come over. It was just a younger blonde woman, looking between them with an uncertain expression.
“Yea, sorry, that’s us. I’m seven.” Pete replied after clearing his throat.
The waitress nodded, placing one plate in front of Pete before moving to place the other in front of Joe. “Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
Both men muttered “thank you” as she quickly moved on to check other tables. Both were then still, looking down at their plates.
“Do you think he even remembers talking about it?” Joe finally asked, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand.
Pete shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe the drinking helped him forget all of it. Maybe he got lucky and just doesn’t remember.”
“How can you be sure?” Joe asked. He slumped in his chair, frowning at his plate. “I think I kind of spoiled my appetite.”
Pete looked down at his own plate. The burger stared back at him, but it no longer looked as appetizing as it did on the menu. “Yea… me too…”
They were able to wave the waitress back over for to go boxes and the check after awhile and found themselves outside waiting for an Uber. It was quiet between them, neither seeming to know what to say.
“Sorry.” Joe sighed, “It was nice to talk about but…I kinda sprung it, I guess.”
“No!” Pete shook his head, “No, I think… it’s good to talk about. Especially after ten years, fuck…” He patted Joe’s arm before reaching around to pull him into a half hug. “I’m glad we’re alive again after that. That you’re alive.”
“You too man.” Joe smiled. “You and Andy and Patrick. Still kicking. Back to music.”
Pete nodded. “Right back to it.” He agreed as the Uber pulled up in front of them. He tried to smile, but it faltered.
Right back too it.
They had rushed back into normalcy after it all happened. It was a whirlwind. Getting back together. Stumbling into a world ending mission. Dying. Reuniting in heaven. Getting another shot at life. Getting back to music. The beauty of life and the psychotic feelings they were left with. The mania Patrick insisted on. Now stardust, a feeling of nostalgia for some people that listened, but it was so much more than that…
The Uber ride was quiet as the thoughts of it all persisted. Joe kept his head down, typing on his phone while Pete’s gaze was at the moving scenery out the window. Flashes of color. Flashes of faces. Flashes of life.
Eventually, the Uber pulled up to the venue where the busses were parked. Pete and Joe split the cost before moving towards the busses together.
“Catch you later, man.” Joe tapped Pete’s shoulder as Pete began to slow near his and Patrick’s bus.
“Yea, later.” Pete nodded, frowning as he looked towards the bus. He wondered if he should try to talk to Patrick. There was no telling if he was even still on the bus, however, or even wanting to talk. Even if he did, what was he gunna say? He had no idea what to say. Bring up the anniversary? Apologize for bothering him last night?
He sighed. He didn’t know. He just needed to grab his stuff and take the trip to the hotel once their manager gave them the okay. It shouldn’t be too much longer now. Before he could get further in his own head over it, he strode towards the bus and made his way inside.
The bus lights were dim like it was still night. Pete shut the door quietly before softly moving up the steps. There was no one in the front area. Turning to the hall where the bunks lead to the back of the bus, he was also greeted by darkness. He could practically feel it reaching out to him, beckoning. He cringed back, feeling that phantom pain pinging in his gut again.
Darkness and pain, the last things he felt.
He shook the thought away. He just had to get his bag, a few extras, and he could leave for the hotel. He pushed through it, moving down the hallway and digging into his storage space to grab his duffle bag. He double checked it, seeing most of what he needed except…
“Where’s my hairbrush?” Pete muttered to himself, pushing past the duffle bay to pat the dark space around it. He continued to mutter under his breath, pulling his phone from his pocket and bringing up the flashlight app. He dug around the space a bit more, but found no luck in his search. He pulled back with a frown. Where had he left it? He had just thrown a hoodie on after last night, skipping the brushing. He had definitely brushed it the day before at least… He usually gave it a quick run through before moving the green rooms pre-shows. Last time that happened he was…
His eyes flicked towards the end of the hall. He had been in the back room of the bus. He had been in a bit of a rush, taking care of some project management and losing time. He didn’t put it away like he usually did.
He sighed. He had to go back there… Or wait…and possibly forget about it again… it was just easier to go to the back. He shifted his position, leaving the duffel bag in his storage space as he made the short trek to the end of the hall. The door was shut and no light peeked underneath.
Pete nodded to himself, bringing his hand to the door latch. He slid it open, taking in the dark room. It looked the same as ever. Shelves. Suitcases. The padded seating that wrapped around it. Patrick laying on the floor. A laptop sitting closed on the seating.
“Patrick!” Pete dropped to the floor and crawled the short distance between them. Patrick was on his stomach, face positioned away from the door. One arm was under his head while the other stretched out. Pete reached out, gripping Patrick’s shoulder tightly. “Patrick, hey, are you okay?”
Relief flooded him when Patrick groaned softly in response. He straightened, leaning over Patrick as he began to stir. Patrick pushed himself up, eyes scrunched shut as he paused on his hands and knees.
“Pete?”
“It’s me, Patrick.” Pete assured, “Are you okay? I found you on the ground.”
“Sorry I was… Fuck what was I doing?..” He opened his eyes, attempting to blink away sleep. Blinking eyes with a yellow glow to them.
Pete froze. Yellow eyes. He could still see the hatred in the yellow eyes that guided the hook into his gut ten years ago. He could practically feel the sensation o he wound reopening under his shirt. He could feel the anger that had been cast towards him while Patrick had been out of his mind. It was like he was back in that desert, the world darkening around him.
Patrick trailed his glowing , yellow eyes up to Pete, all tiredness leaving them in an instant when he saw Pete’s expression. “Fuck it’s-Fuck.” He dropped his head, immediately scooting back, adjusting his position and pressing himself against the bench. He brought his hands up to cover his eyes. “Get out, Pete. Just go.”
Pete stayed in his same position, shaking. He couldn’t bing himself to move. It was like he could feel the blood spreading. It was like he was thrown back ten years. He could almost see yellow peaking through Patrick’s fingers.
But it wasn’t ten years ago. Patrick wasn’t charging or lunging towards him. There was no torn injury to his abdomen. There was no gushing blood. There was no fading sun in the desert sky.
It was just him and Patrick in the back of a tour bus. Two men stuck where they were.
Pete took a deep breath. He tilted his head down, long hair falling beside his face. He was okay. He wasn’t that same person as he was ten years ago. Neither was the man in front of him. He took another moment to breathe before moving closer to Patrick.
“Patrick?”
“Get away from me, Pete.” His voice quivered. He held his arms closer to his body, trying to shrink himself. One hand squeezing tighter against his face. Paler.
Pete sat on his knees in front of Patrick. “Patrick, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not.” Patrick’s head shook as much as it could behind how tense his body was. “I know they’re yellow again, you’re not supposed to know. You’re not supposed to see it when this happens.”
“When it happens?” Pete repeated.
Patrick didn’t respond. He stayed pressed against the bench, refusing to pull his hands away from his face or relax.
“It’s different now.” Pete assured, reaching out but hesitating before he could touch Patrick. “You’re not attacking me yet. You’re actually talking, you never did that when…”
“I don’t want to think about that!” Tears were visible around the edges of Patrick’s palms. “I don’t want to-it doesn’t matter if it’s different now it’s…”
It was still for a moment between them. Patrick’s breathing was picking up and catching as more tears pooled around the edges of his palms before trailing down his face. Pete didn’t know what to say, he just knew he didn’t want to leave Patrick alone. Instead, after a moment, Pete adjusted his position to instead move beside Patrick. He leaned against the bench to Patrick’s side, scooting close enough for their arms to nearly touch, but not quite.
And they sat like that for while.
Close but separate.
Pete let Patrick cry, breathing jumping between even and near choking. It was hard not to just pull him into a tight embrace, but he didn’t want to accidentally make things worse. Eventually, Patrick quieted. His shoulders were slumped, but his face still covered by his hands.
“I don’t understand.” Patrick was the first to speak, breaking the silent barrier between them.
“What?” Pete tilted his head to the side, hair cascading down his shoulder.
“I don’t understand.” Patrick repeated. “I don’t understand how you can stand to be near me when I look like I did when…” Slowly, he pulled his hands down, fingers now sitting below his eyes and resting onto his cheeks. Yellow flooded eyes glowing dimly in the light. “You guys weren’t supposed to see this again.”
“How often do you see it?” Pete frowned. Ten years they avoided talking about it. Ten years Patrick had been struggling with it?
He watched as Patrick let his hands drop, crossing over his knees. He still felt uncertain if he should reach out. He wanted to, so desperately. But, though he didn’t want to admit it, part of him still felt that fear of losing his friend seeing the yellow in his eyes.
“I don’t know.” Patrick sighed, “Not too often. I mean, it didn’t happen for a long time outside of nightmares…” He shut his eyes, hiding the glow of his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to see it. You guys came back fixed, but I’m still wrong.”
“Patrick.” Pete could feel his heart break from Patrick’s tone. He put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, unable to fight his instincts despite his earlier hesitation. He could feel Patrick tense under his touch. “You’re not wrong.”
“Why do I still see yellow then, Pete?” Patrick snapped, turning his head towards Pete and opening his eyes. That yellow glare fixed on Pete once again. Pete could feel his grip on Patrick’s shoulder tighten with the look. “Why do I feel overwhelmed sometimes and get this horrible reminder of what I did? Why didn’t I come back fixed?”
Patrick’s eyes darted to his shoulder where Pete’s hand rested. His expression quickly shifted from irritation to fear. He looked back at Pete, shaking his head. “Pete, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, let go and just get out. I’m not safe.”
Pete inhaled a shaky breath. That look in Patrick’s eyes that had trapped him was gone. If it wasn’t for the yellow, it would just be his friend looking back at him. He had to tell himself that. It was different now. They had come so far since it all happened.
“Andy and Joe still feel pain in their throats.” The words tumbled out of Pete, “I still feel my wound, Patrick we didn’t come back perfect.” He loosened his grip on Patrick’s shoulder, but didn’t pull it away. “Patrick, you’re not wrong for having lingering wounds. We all do, we’ve just ignored them. For way too long.”
Patrick stared at Pete, unmoving. Pete brought his other hand to Patrick’s other shoulder. “None of us are fully back.” He insisted, “You’re not wrong.”
Patrick shook his head. “I’ve felt insane since we came back.” His shoulders slumped under Pete’s hands. “I don’t… I can’t talk about it, I can’t bring it up after what I did.”
“That wasn’t you!” Pete could feel tears brimming in his eyes as he watched them well in Patrick’s. “Patrick, they had you hooked to machines, they cut off your fucking hand! They made you do that.”
“I still had thoughts.” Patrick shook his head as the tears fell down his cheeks. “I still thought… I thought things. All these untrue things about how you guys didn’t care and I… Then I wake up to having killed Joe. Then I wake up dying, looking up at the sky, not even realizing I killed you until…” The yellow still glowed in his eyes, but there was a sadness behind them that had never been present during that period of time.
Pete didn’t know what to say. He just shook his head before pulling Patrick close and holding him tightly around his shoulders. He nuzzled his face against Patrick’s jawline before lifting his head to whisper into Patrick’s ear. “I never blamed you.”
Patrick had been so still with Pete’s closeness. He had seemed unsure what to do. After Pete’s words, however, an audible sob escaped him. He wrapped his arms around Pete, holding him in the tightest embrace Pete could remember.
Patrick’s sobs were the only sound in the air around them. Silent tears fell down Pete’s face as he let Patrick continue to squeeze him and cry. There was so much being said through no words at all. So many unspoken feelings being felt all at once.
They stayed like that for hours.
Minutes?
It could have been days.
At some point, Patrick’s squeeze eased, but he didn’t pull away from Pete. Pete didn’t mind. He was comfortable in this position, able to feel Patrick’s calming breaths and relaxing muscles.
“We can talk about it.” Pete murmured, nuzzling his cheek against Patrick’s again. “All of us. None of us blame you. It’s okay to talk about.”
Patrick shifted, beginning to pull away. Pete frowned, but loosened his grip to allow Patrick to fully pull back.
The yellow in his eyes had faded. Duller now, but it was still there. No longer glowing, shrunk to allow a thin ring of blue around the outer edge. The whites of his eyes red from all of the crying and tear stains still apparent in his face.
Pete reached out, putting a hand on Patrick’s cheek and gently wiping at the streaks with his thumb. “It’s okay to talk about.”
Patrick gave the smallest nod. “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft.
“It’s okay.” Pete smiled. “We’re all okay.”
Another small nod from Patrick.
“I can call up Joe and Andy. We can sit in a nice hotel room and talk about it instead of the floor of our bus.” Pete suggested, “We can talk, or we can just… Be together after ten years. Yea?”
“Yea.” Patrick agreed. He brought a hand up to hold against Pete’s hand on his cheek. “That sounds good.”
Pete continued to smile at Patrick as he slowly made the movements to get up. Then pull Patrick up. Then contact the others. Hairbrush completely forgotten as Patrick leaned against him and spoke softly. Pete put an arm around him in support, leading him out of the small space. In that moment, it did feel like ten years ago, just before the horror that came with the briefcase. Leaning against each other and rebuilding their friendship. Healing over how they last fell apart, pulling each other out of the coffin.
Ten years later they could do it again.