Chapter 1
The day it happened wasn’t a particularly bad day. In fact, it had been rather good. This was the first day Davey and Malcolm had to themselves in a while and Davey was looking forward to it. He impatiently checked the time, flopping back against the couch when the clock revealed 4 hours and 11 minutes until he could finally see Malcolm again. The time passed slowly, with two one hour naps and a lot of fidgeting. Davey checked his phone again, vexed when he had no new messages. There was only ten minutes now. Ten annoyingly long minutes. They eventually passed with no sign of him. Ten minutes turned to twenty, and twenty into a half hour. Davey was getting worried; Malcolm had never been this late before. Then his phone rang. He quickly jumped to his feet to answer it, sighing in frustration when he didn’t recognize the number. Disappointed, he answered the call.
“Hello?” He sighed into the phone.
“Hello,” came the reply, “Is this Mr. David Rogerson?”
“Yes, what is it?” He said impatiently.
“This is Beckensdale Hospital. Are you aware that you’ve been listed as Malcolm Parton’s sole emergency contact?”
“Yes, why? Has something happened?” Davey said, all impatience draining out of his head, replaced with anxiety for his friend. He tried not to think about what that could imply.
“I regret to inform you that earlier this evening, Mr. Parton had passed away due to injuries attained in the events yesterday in which-” Davey dropped the phone, which fell with a muffled thump to the carpet.
“Mr. Rogerson?” Came the voice from the phone. “Mr. Rogerson are you still there?” With a shaking hand he picked the phone back up.
“Y-yeah. I’m still here.” He said, the waver in his voice clear. The person on the phone continued to speak but it was all just noise to him. His best friend, his Malcolm, the most important person in the world (at least to him), was dead. As in, not alive, not coming back dead. He hung up the phone. A tear slipped down his face, then another, until all the emotions came out in a big rush of tears. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and certainly not to Malcolm.
The wake and funeral were a few days later, all of Malcolm's customers and friends and fans were there, but none of them were his number one fan. His number one fan was sitting near the back, trying not to look into the open casket. Why did it have to be an open casket? Davey thought. He couldn’t look into the face that was once so full of life without remembering how his eyes would brighten up when he was passionate. Or how Davey could never decide if his eyes were blue or green. He couldn’t bring himself to get up and speak, or to carry the casket. The funeral was quick. Davey doesn’t know how he got home afterwards but the next thing he knows is that he’s staring at his wall. Everything seemed to blur around him, except for that one spot on the wall. That spot kept him grounded, it let him know that he was still here in this world. For all he cared, it was a different universe because surely he couldn’t be in the same world that Malcolm was once in.
The doorbell rang, yet was ignored. A knock at the door, less than a minute later, again ignored. Another knock. Finally a quick rattling of the doorknob, the lock turned and the door opened. A loud, unwelcome voice filled the silence.
“Davey! Davey! How ya doin’? Are you holding up ok?” Davey’s friend, Rich burst into the house. With no response, he lowered his voice to a reasonable tone. “Hey Dave, buddy. Come on.”
Rich made his way around to where Davey was sitting, and waved his hand in front of Davey’s face. Davey, of course, didn’t react other than a quick blink and a breath. Rich shook his shoulder, then grabbed his upper bicep and dragged him up to a standing position.
“Come on, we’re going for a ride.” Rich brought Davey to his car and helped him into the passenger seat. The ride was quick, they weren’t driving for five minutes before Rich pulled the car to the curb, across the street from the town’s cemetery.
“Why am I here?” Davey asked as he got out of the car, his voice no louder than a whisper. Davey did not understand what Rich was trying to accomplish. Rich chose not to respond, but to look both ways and cross the street, dragging Davey along by his elbow. They entered the graveyard in silence, neither having anything particularly important to say. The uneven, dirt roads of Beckensdale Cemetery almost made Davey fall. Rich led him to a grave with the name Malcolm Parton and placed a folded newspaper from a few days ago on the ground with the headline facing up. ‘Bridge Collapse Nearby Bekensdale, Number of Casualties Unknown, at least 4 dead’ ‘Popular Shop Owner Malcolm Parton died in hospital last night’. Davey glanced over the headline, before flipping the paper over.
“I don’t want to read that.” He said quietly, looking up at Rich. Rich was quite tall and Davey had to tilt his head up to look at him.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re quiet today, Dave. Read the paper. It won’t make you feel better, but you should know what happened.” Rich stated. He flipped the paper over again, and didn’t say anything when Davey pointedly ignored it.
“Can we leave?” Davey asked, feeling uncomfortable with the solemn silence that had taken over. Despite not staying there for very long, Rich agreed and took Davey back to his house.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Rich said. “Make sure you eat something tonight, I’ll bring bagels for breakfast from that place down the road.”
“Sure.” Davey’s quick response was engulfed by the silence, and they both looked around awkwardly.
“Well...see you then I guess.” Rich said before leaving. The sounds of the car quickly faded away, Rich driving far above the speed limit as per usual.
Davey fell into a restless sleep, waking up at odd hours in the night just to fall back asleep half an hour later.
He woke up to the door shutting and footsteps clomping down the hall to his room. His bedroom door opened and Rich walked in.
Davey groaned. “Rich, didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He barely made it to the end of his sentence before yawning.
“It’s eight thirty, Dave. You’re normally up before now.” Rich said with a raised brow.
“Well…” He yawned. “I couldn’t fall asleep last night.” Rich looked at him, concern showing in his face.
“Bad dream?” He asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, there was this bridge collapse and a lot of people died, including Malcolm.” Davey said with a frown. Rich stepped forward and put a hand on Davey’s shoulder.
“Dave, buddy. That wasn’t a dream.”
