Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Recollection
Art Gallery
2 reviews"She was in shock, I understood, and though I reacted with more of a need for comfort, I realized that everyone had a different way of coping with such distress."
0Unrated
I sat in the dining room, sliding my finger across the rim of a long-unused crystal glass. Inside held my favorite bourbon. I’d calmed down a bit from before, the alcohol soothing my nerves, I think. From my knowledge, Lindsey had not come back inside but stayed out doing God knows what. I felt guilty, denying her like that, and wished I had treated her a little differently, but at the same time, I sensed I had done the right thing. I’ve been constantly afraid that in my furious state, I might hurt her. I stopped my rhythmic rubbing of the glass and took a last drink, letting a loud breath and guttural sigh once the liquid passed down my abnormally raw throat. I knew I shouldn’t have been drinking, considering my long attempt at sobriety so many years ago, but I told myself, probably not wisely, that I would be able to control it this time. I knew how wrong I could be. I got up from the lightly cushioned dining chair and washed out the glass with some water from the sink and returned it to the china closet. I placed the glass bottle of bourbon behind all of the other drinks we kept exclusively for the guests that never came, trying to avoid the clinking sounds made every time the bottles made contact. If I was going to return to old habits, I didn’t want Lindsey to know. The sun’s rays had completely died from the sky, and I wondered to myself where Lindsey could be. She was fine, I was sure, and decided that as soon as she decided to come inside; I would apologize and explain my reasoning to act so irrationally before. I waited in our bedroom, trying to relax and read a book, but the more I tried to separate my mind from Lindsey, the more anxious I became. I’d only been inside for about an hour, but it seemed like I had been there for hours. Trying to ease my mind, and ease the dizziness cause by the alcohol, I forced myself to go to sleep, surprisingly quickly dozing off.
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I woke up the next morning, facing Lindsey’s backside. Her torso moved slightly up and down with every shallow breath she took, and I felt the previous anger and concern dissipate. Draping an arm over her side, I felt her twitch reflexively, possibly a little uncomfortably, and I instinctually hesitated to keep my arm on her.
“Hey,” I said, my voice clearly not ready to be used in the morning. She sighed heavily and turned over to face me. She looked tired,
“Hi,” she said, smiling a little unsurely. I pushed myself up to lean on the best post, and said,
“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I really wish I could control myself, but I just don’t want to hurt you and—“
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, “I understand. I went over to your studio and met Brian there to talk about it. The damage isn’t too bad, actually, and a lot of your good art was salvaged so you’ll be fine,” she said from her position on the bed. I breathed out. It really wasn’t a big deal to begin with, I thought to myself.
“Thank you… Lindsey, I’m sorry,” I said, without words to appreciate her. She smiled, her eyes a little sunken, from stress, I thought, and said,
“I’ll go make some breakfast. Want anything?”
“Bagel would be nice,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to get up. I heard her walk away, her feet slapping against the tiles in the hallway. I stretched and opened a few windows to let in some fresh air, never growing tired of the oceanic breeze. I changed into a pair of jeans and dressier shirt than regular, planning to visit Brian at the studio to decide where we would go from the destruction. I headed into the kitchen, a plate with a lightly buttered bagel on it waiting for me, precisely how I liked it.
“Thanks,” I said, planting a kiss on her cheek as she handed me a cup of coffee. “I’m going to meet Brian at the studio. I want to see exactly how bad it really is.”
“Oh,” Lindsey said, stammering a little, probably a result of the large bit she had taken out of a piece of toast. The phone rang. Conveniently standing beside the phone cradle, I picked it up and mumbled,
“Probably Brian,” and answered. “Hello?” I said.
“Mr. Gerard Way?” a voice said. It wasn’t Brian.
“Yes, this is he.”
“This is the LAPD. You are the owner of the gallery on… 6753 Hollywood Boulevard?”
“Yes, I know, I’ve already been told about the break in. Have you caught the person who did it?” I said dismissively.
“Uh, no, sir, actually, we’re calling on account of the severely mutilated body, several deep lacerations to his throat and arms, almost definitely murdered, found in your gallery who we’ve identified as Brian Schechter, your manager,” the man answered bluntly. I almost dropped the phone, and grasped onto the side of the counter next to me for support.
“Brian’s… dead?” I said with my voice quivering, with shock or anger, I didn’t know, but I felt a confusing mixture of several emotions, scared they would unleash all at once.
“I’m afraid so, sir. We’d like to come for questioning if you are willing to at this moment.”
“O-of course,” I stammered.
“We’ll arrive in about an hour,” the officer said, adding in, “I’m sorry,” to try and compensate for the terrible news he had just given me. I pressed the ‘end’ button and shakily replaced the phone back into its cradle.
“Brian’s dead. Murdered,” I said to Lindsey, trying hard to control my emotions and taking deep breaths to calm myself.
“What…?” she said with a strained exhale.
“They found him murdered and bloody… in my gallery.” Lindsey put her cup of coffee down on the table next to her half-eaten muffin and put her hands on her head, the shock clear in her expression.
“Is it the same person who…”
“No,” I said mindlessly. “Well…” I reconsidered, thinking a little too quickly before, “It actually might be. I mean, how can two acts of crime happen in the same place with different suspects. It’s not likely,” I died off my thinking into a self-wondering. “The LAPD are coming in about an hour.” Lindsey took her hands off of her head and stood planted in her spot, blankly staring off into the other room pensively with a startled look. She said nothing. I strode over and started to put my arms around her to try and ease her mind, but she evaded my gesture, put a light hand on mine, and quickly lifted it, looking away from my gaze. She was in shock, I understood, and though I reacted with more of a need for comfort, I realized that everyone had a different way of coping with such distress. I watched her pull the door open to go outside, not bothering to put her sandals on, and shuffle towards the patio in the back.
I prepared for the house to be adequately presentable for when the police came. Obviously, I knew they wouldn’t care if my house was cluttered or not, but honestly I only wanted to busy myself so I wouldn’t return to such a dark and angry state I had almost gone to the evening before. There wasn’t much to clean, so in the short hour that I had, I managed to tidy up every room in the house. By the time I returned to the kitchen, or “home base” as Lindsey and I liked to call it, my back ached from picking things up and I was practically out of breath. Good, I thought to myself, I didn’t have any time to be angry. Through a small window in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Lindsey sitting on a deck chair with her elbows placed on her knees and hands on her head. Her black hair draped over her face, masking it from my view, but from my position, I was sure she was crying. I was about to walk outside and alleviate her pain, as Brian was as good of a friend to her as he was to me, but just as soon as I started walking towards to door, the doorbell rang. The police had arrived. I half ran, half walked to the door and opened it to be greeted by two police officers, terrifyingly intimidating in their black uniform.
“Good morning, Mr. Way,” the officer on the left said with a nice enough voice. “I’m Officer Singer and this is Officer Campbell,” he gestured to the officer standing next to him. We shook hands, and I nodded quickly saying,
“Come in, come in.” The officers stepped inside, obviously admiring the high ceiling and chandelier. I lead them to the living room and asked, “Anything to drink?” Both declined politely and sat themselves down on the couch. I sat opposite to them on a smaller couch, separated by our glass coffee table.
“You have a wife, Mr. Way,” Singer said, stating fact more than asking a question as he glanced at our picture on a small stand next to the couch.
“Ah, girlfriend,” I said, “Hopefully fiancé soon,” I smiled weakly.
“And she was friends with Mr. Schechter?”
“Yes, very good,” I responded.
“Where is she now?”
“Outside. She’s having a hard time coping.”
“Do you think she would mind answering a few questions for us?” Campbell said delicately.
“I’m sure,” I said, and stood up to get Lindsey. I stepped outside and approached Lindsey, putting a hand on her back. She jumped a little at the contact, probably not hearing me walk up. “The police are here and they want to ask you a few questions,” I said softly, using as soothing of a tone I could. “Can you do that for them?” Panic rose in her eyes, and blinked, surprised, and said, “Hey, don’t worry,” I added a soft chuckle, “You didn’t do anything wrong. They just need to know what happened. I helped Lindsey up and brought her back inside, putting my hand around her shoulder and squeezing it gently to reassure her that I was there for her.
“Hello, Ms…” Singer said, standing up from the couch with his partner almost simultaneously, unknowing of her last name.
“Ballato,” she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said apologetically, shaking her hand. Campbell did the same, and they both sat back down. They didn’t hesitate to start right away. Singer said,
“So, Ms. Ballato, when was the last time you had contact with Mr. Schechter?” Lindsey answered with a quivering voice,
“Actually, it was yesterday, right at about sundown.” The officers exchanged glances, and said,
“Where?”
“At the gallery. There was break in, and Brian called us, so I went to go check it out.”
“But it was Mr. Way’s gallery, wasn’t it?” Campbell asked.
“Yes… but,” she glanced up at me, silently asked whether it was okay to mention my current problems. I nodded, and she continued, “Gerard has been having… anger issues lately and thought it was best to detach himself from the situation for the time being. I went instead.” The officers nodded understandingly, and moved to the next question.
“Did Mr. Schechter have any, uh, enemies, or anything like that?” The corners of Lindsey’s mouth turned up a little, reminiscing about Brian, and said,
“No, well, not that I know of, Brian is… was one of the nicest people I have ever known in my life.”
“And about what time did you get home?” Campbell asked.
“Ah, only a couple hours afterwards.” The officers looked up at me, and I nodded. I wasn’t completely sure it this was true, as I was asleep at the time, but I trusted that Lindsey wasn’t lying. There was no need to.
“Did you see anyone that you would label as suspicious going into the building after you left?”
“No,” Lindsey said surely. Singer sighed. He probably got nothing out of the questioning, and stood up.
“Thank you for you time, and again, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. Lindsey nodded, attempting to get up, but I put my hand on her shoulder and gently said,
“It’s okay…” She relaxed back down on the couch, her shoulders slumped, and I led the officers out of the house. Once the door closed and ‘thank yous’ were exchanged, I returned to the living room and sat next to Lindsey. She stared blankly up to the ceiling with her mouth slightly open.
“You okay, Linds?” I asked. She shut her mouth and nodded. I thought to myself then how well I had been handling the situation. I was sure the reality of the situation had not yet hit me and it would quite soon. For once, it felt good to be the one who was worrying and not the one to be worried about. I cared for Lindsey more than I could ever have imagined in years past, and now I wasn’t the one to be cared for. Now, I was returning the favor, and god help me, I would do everything I could to make her feel better.
A/N: Hello! Hope you liked this chapter! Tell me what you think! (Remember, constructive criticism is always appreciated!)
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I woke up the next morning, facing Lindsey’s backside. Her torso moved slightly up and down with every shallow breath she took, and I felt the previous anger and concern dissipate. Draping an arm over her side, I felt her twitch reflexively, possibly a little uncomfortably, and I instinctually hesitated to keep my arm on her.
“Hey,” I said, my voice clearly not ready to be used in the morning. She sighed heavily and turned over to face me. She looked tired,
“Hi,” she said, smiling a little unsurely. I pushed myself up to lean on the best post, and said,
“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I really wish I could control myself, but I just don’t want to hurt you and—“
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, “I understand. I went over to your studio and met Brian there to talk about it. The damage isn’t too bad, actually, and a lot of your good art was salvaged so you’ll be fine,” she said from her position on the bed. I breathed out. It really wasn’t a big deal to begin with, I thought to myself.
“Thank you… Lindsey, I’m sorry,” I said, without words to appreciate her. She smiled, her eyes a little sunken, from stress, I thought, and said,
“I’ll go make some breakfast. Want anything?”
“Bagel would be nice,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to get up. I heard her walk away, her feet slapping against the tiles in the hallway. I stretched and opened a few windows to let in some fresh air, never growing tired of the oceanic breeze. I changed into a pair of jeans and dressier shirt than regular, planning to visit Brian at the studio to decide where we would go from the destruction. I headed into the kitchen, a plate with a lightly buttered bagel on it waiting for me, precisely how I liked it.
“Thanks,” I said, planting a kiss on her cheek as she handed me a cup of coffee. “I’m going to meet Brian at the studio. I want to see exactly how bad it really is.”
“Oh,” Lindsey said, stammering a little, probably a result of the large bit she had taken out of a piece of toast. The phone rang. Conveniently standing beside the phone cradle, I picked it up and mumbled,
“Probably Brian,” and answered. “Hello?” I said.
“Mr. Gerard Way?” a voice said. It wasn’t Brian.
“Yes, this is he.”
“This is the LAPD. You are the owner of the gallery on… 6753 Hollywood Boulevard?”
“Yes, I know, I’ve already been told about the break in. Have you caught the person who did it?” I said dismissively.
“Uh, no, sir, actually, we’re calling on account of the severely mutilated body, several deep lacerations to his throat and arms, almost definitely murdered, found in your gallery who we’ve identified as Brian Schechter, your manager,” the man answered bluntly. I almost dropped the phone, and grasped onto the side of the counter next to me for support.
“Brian’s… dead?” I said with my voice quivering, with shock or anger, I didn’t know, but I felt a confusing mixture of several emotions, scared they would unleash all at once.
“I’m afraid so, sir. We’d like to come for questioning if you are willing to at this moment.”
“O-of course,” I stammered.
“We’ll arrive in about an hour,” the officer said, adding in, “I’m sorry,” to try and compensate for the terrible news he had just given me. I pressed the ‘end’ button and shakily replaced the phone back into its cradle.
“Brian’s dead. Murdered,” I said to Lindsey, trying hard to control my emotions and taking deep breaths to calm myself.
“What…?” she said with a strained exhale.
“They found him murdered and bloody… in my gallery.” Lindsey put her cup of coffee down on the table next to her half-eaten muffin and put her hands on her head, the shock clear in her expression.
“Is it the same person who…”
“No,” I said mindlessly. “Well…” I reconsidered, thinking a little too quickly before, “It actually might be. I mean, how can two acts of crime happen in the same place with different suspects. It’s not likely,” I died off my thinking into a self-wondering. “The LAPD are coming in about an hour.” Lindsey took her hands off of her head and stood planted in her spot, blankly staring off into the other room pensively with a startled look. She said nothing. I strode over and started to put my arms around her to try and ease her mind, but she evaded my gesture, put a light hand on mine, and quickly lifted it, looking away from my gaze. She was in shock, I understood, and though I reacted with more of a need for comfort, I realized that everyone had a different way of coping with such distress. I watched her pull the door open to go outside, not bothering to put her sandals on, and shuffle towards the patio in the back.
I prepared for the house to be adequately presentable for when the police came. Obviously, I knew they wouldn’t care if my house was cluttered or not, but honestly I only wanted to busy myself so I wouldn’t return to such a dark and angry state I had almost gone to the evening before. There wasn’t much to clean, so in the short hour that I had, I managed to tidy up every room in the house. By the time I returned to the kitchen, or “home base” as Lindsey and I liked to call it, my back ached from picking things up and I was practically out of breath. Good, I thought to myself, I didn’t have any time to be angry. Through a small window in the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of Lindsey sitting on a deck chair with her elbows placed on her knees and hands on her head. Her black hair draped over her face, masking it from my view, but from my position, I was sure she was crying. I was about to walk outside and alleviate her pain, as Brian was as good of a friend to her as he was to me, but just as soon as I started walking towards to door, the doorbell rang. The police had arrived. I half ran, half walked to the door and opened it to be greeted by two police officers, terrifyingly intimidating in their black uniform.
“Good morning, Mr. Way,” the officer on the left said with a nice enough voice. “I’m Officer Singer and this is Officer Campbell,” he gestured to the officer standing next to him. We shook hands, and I nodded quickly saying,
“Come in, come in.” The officers stepped inside, obviously admiring the high ceiling and chandelier. I lead them to the living room and asked, “Anything to drink?” Both declined politely and sat themselves down on the couch. I sat opposite to them on a smaller couch, separated by our glass coffee table.
“You have a wife, Mr. Way,” Singer said, stating fact more than asking a question as he glanced at our picture on a small stand next to the couch.
“Ah, girlfriend,” I said, “Hopefully fiancé soon,” I smiled weakly.
“And she was friends with Mr. Schechter?”
“Yes, very good,” I responded.
“Where is she now?”
“Outside. She’s having a hard time coping.”
“Do you think she would mind answering a few questions for us?” Campbell said delicately.
“I’m sure,” I said, and stood up to get Lindsey. I stepped outside and approached Lindsey, putting a hand on her back. She jumped a little at the contact, probably not hearing me walk up. “The police are here and they want to ask you a few questions,” I said softly, using as soothing of a tone I could. “Can you do that for them?” Panic rose in her eyes, and blinked, surprised, and said, “Hey, don’t worry,” I added a soft chuckle, “You didn’t do anything wrong. They just need to know what happened. I helped Lindsey up and brought her back inside, putting my hand around her shoulder and squeezing it gently to reassure her that I was there for her.
“Hello, Ms…” Singer said, standing up from the couch with his partner almost simultaneously, unknowing of her last name.
“Ballato,” she said.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said apologetically, shaking her hand. Campbell did the same, and they both sat back down. They didn’t hesitate to start right away. Singer said,
“So, Ms. Ballato, when was the last time you had contact with Mr. Schechter?” Lindsey answered with a quivering voice,
“Actually, it was yesterday, right at about sundown.” The officers exchanged glances, and said,
“Where?”
“At the gallery. There was break in, and Brian called us, so I went to go check it out.”
“But it was Mr. Way’s gallery, wasn’t it?” Campbell asked.
“Yes… but,” she glanced up at me, silently asked whether it was okay to mention my current problems. I nodded, and she continued, “Gerard has been having… anger issues lately and thought it was best to detach himself from the situation for the time being. I went instead.” The officers nodded understandingly, and moved to the next question.
“Did Mr. Schechter have any, uh, enemies, or anything like that?” The corners of Lindsey’s mouth turned up a little, reminiscing about Brian, and said,
“No, well, not that I know of, Brian is… was one of the nicest people I have ever known in my life.”
“And about what time did you get home?” Campbell asked.
“Ah, only a couple hours afterwards.” The officers looked up at me, and I nodded. I wasn’t completely sure it this was true, as I was asleep at the time, but I trusted that Lindsey wasn’t lying. There was no need to.
“Did you see anyone that you would label as suspicious going into the building after you left?”
“No,” Lindsey said surely. Singer sighed. He probably got nothing out of the questioning, and stood up.
“Thank you for you time, and again, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. Lindsey nodded, attempting to get up, but I put my hand on her shoulder and gently said,
“It’s okay…” She relaxed back down on the couch, her shoulders slumped, and I led the officers out of the house. Once the door closed and ‘thank yous’ were exchanged, I returned to the living room and sat next to Lindsey. She stared blankly up to the ceiling with her mouth slightly open.
“You okay, Linds?” I asked. She shut her mouth and nodded. I thought to myself then how well I had been handling the situation. I was sure the reality of the situation had not yet hit me and it would quite soon. For once, it felt good to be the one who was worrying and not the one to be worried about. I cared for Lindsey more than I could ever have imagined in years past, and now I wasn’t the one to be cared for. Now, I was returning the favor, and god help me, I would do everything I could to make her feel better.
A/N: Hello! Hope you liked this chapter! Tell me what you think! (Remember, constructive criticism is always appreciated!)
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