Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Wake Me Up When The Nightmare Ends
It wasn’t until he heard the heavy external lock being shifted on the door that Pete realised that he too had dozed off. Shaking Ashlee gently, he woke his sleeping wife, not wanting any sudden movement on his part to be a shock to her. Despite his inability to stand because of the cuffs still fastened tightly around his ankles, Pete had no intention of sitting idly by while they destroyed his family.
“Shh!” he whispered. “They’re coming in, I’m getting you out of here.”
“I’m not going without you,” Ashlee whispered urgently back in return.
“You’re getting out of this room, finding Bronx and getting out of here. Understand?”
“Pete, no…”
“Please!” he begged. “Once you’re out, you can…”
“They’ll kill you.”
“Patrick won’t kill me,” Pete replied with an expression that suggested he truly believed what he was saying.
“Like he wouldn’t have kidnapped you?”
“Ash, please!” Pete frowned deeply as he heard the bolt shunted back. “Pretend to be asleep.”
Opening the door, Shawn laughed lightly at the couple, apparently sleeping, Ashlee lying across her husband’s lap, his right hand, still entwined in her hair.
“Ah, how sweet,” he mocked as he bent down grabbing Ashlee’s wrist.
The first he knew that she was awake was when the gasp escaped her lips a little too readily. Turning surprised eyes towards her, Shawn realised too late that neither were sleeping. Rolling to the left, although still in Shawn’s grip, Ashlee gave Pete a clear aim. Raising his legs and pulling back, Pete kicked with all his strength, screaming in agony as the cuffs tightened around his already badly bruised and painful ankles. Shawn’s grip on Ashlee’s wrist released in an instant and he hurtled backwards, trying to break his fall as he reeled against the blow. Finally losing his balance as he stumbled, Shawn fell heavily, cracking his head sharply on what was left of the inner door handle. With a dull groan he dropped to the floor, unconscious before he landed.
Pete’s head flopped back as he realised with relief that he had achieved his aim, now allowing his body to deal with the excruciating pain coursing through it, leaving him breathless and weak. The next sensation he felt was Ashlee’s hands on his ankles. Looking down at his feet through pain-fuelled, misty, tear-glazed eyes, he could just about make out that she was unlocking the cuffs.
“Ash?” he queried as finally the pain began to subside.
“He had the key,” she replied, before snapping the cuffs on Shawn’s ankles, possibly even tighter than Pete had suffered them. “There, see how he likes it!”
Pete smiled at his wife’s more than justified retribution. Pushing himself to his feet, trying not to react to the biting pain he still felt, Pete ushered Ashlee to the door.
“Let’s get Bronx and get out of here.”
“What about Patrick?”
“Later,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I just want to get you both to safety. Watch out for Houseman.”
“What if we see him? What if he has Bronx?”
Pete frowned deeply as he almost appeared to be mulling the question over in his mind.
“If he’s hurt him, I am gonna kill him.” Drawing his lips into a thin line, he reappraised his feelings. “I’m gonna kill him anyway.”
*
Patrick looked around the drab and stark interview room comprising a table, a couple of chairs and a silent police officer, standing glaring at him from near to the door. Patrick looked down at the table and tried to find something about it interesting so that he could at least feign not being scared. It was hopeless. The young singer was confused and terrified. Joe had been attacked, Pete was missing and even Andy believed it was his doing. If Andy believed it, how could a jury not? He wanted desperately to know how Joe was really doing; he didn’t even know what had happened to him and he had the definite feeling that no one was in any hurry to tell him. He wished they’d at least removed his handcuffs. Sitting in considerable discomfort, with the steel circles biting around his wrists, Patrick turned his head to face the officer near the door.
“Could I have some water please?” he asked nervously, only to be ignored utterly. Briefly looking back down at the table, Patrick closed his eyes, his fear wearing him down more than he had expected.
When finally the door opened, Patrick still didn’t look up. It wasn’t out of stubbornness, merely out of terrified exhaustion, but it got him off on the wrong footing immediately.
“Got a cocky one,” one of the detectives announced to Patrick’s surprise.
Looking up only now, Patrick turned dead eyes to the man who was staring down at him. He had been held in the interview room, handcuffed, alone, without counsel and with neither a sip of water nor a restroom break for nearly an hour. One of his friends was missing, another viciously attacked and he had no information on either. The shock of being arrested for the attempted murder of one of his friends had drained him utterly and his mounting concern and dread had used up what little energy that remained. Patrick was fit to drop and they knew it.
“How’s Joe?” he asked finally, ignoring the inflammatory comment from the lead detective.
“What? Want to know if it’s murder yet?”
Patrick paled. “No,” he replied, much more composed than he felt. “He’s my friend and I want to know how he is.”
“Your friend?” the detective raised an eyebrow. “And yet you tried to kill him.”
“Where’s my lawyer?” Patrick asked trying to hold his voice steady.
“You know, I don’t think she’s got the message yet.”
Patrick swallowed; it seemed unlikely that any attempt had been made to get a message to her.
“I’m allowed a phone call.”
“Later,” the second detective growled.
Flipping a switch on a tape recorder fixed to the wall, the first detective spoke.
“Detectives Stokes and Bramall interviewing suspect Patrick Stump for the attempted murder of Joseph Trohman. October 21st, time is seventeen-twenty-three.”
Suddenly, it all felt a little bit too real and Patrick found himself fighting the nausea from the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They believed he was capable of murder. Of the three people he would normally rely on for support, one was in hospital, as Andy had said, critical but stable, another missing and the third appeared to believe it too. He had never felt so utterly alone. This was going to be a long and tense night.
“Shh!” he whispered. “They’re coming in, I’m getting you out of here.”
“I’m not going without you,” Ashlee whispered urgently back in return.
“You’re getting out of this room, finding Bronx and getting out of here. Understand?”
“Pete, no…”
“Please!” he begged. “Once you’re out, you can…”
“They’ll kill you.”
“Patrick won’t kill me,” Pete replied with an expression that suggested he truly believed what he was saying.
“Like he wouldn’t have kidnapped you?”
“Ash, please!” Pete frowned deeply as he heard the bolt shunted back. “Pretend to be asleep.”
Opening the door, Shawn laughed lightly at the couple, apparently sleeping, Ashlee lying across her husband’s lap, his right hand, still entwined in her hair.
“Ah, how sweet,” he mocked as he bent down grabbing Ashlee’s wrist.
The first he knew that she was awake was when the gasp escaped her lips a little too readily. Turning surprised eyes towards her, Shawn realised too late that neither were sleeping. Rolling to the left, although still in Shawn’s grip, Ashlee gave Pete a clear aim. Raising his legs and pulling back, Pete kicked with all his strength, screaming in agony as the cuffs tightened around his already badly bruised and painful ankles. Shawn’s grip on Ashlee’s wrist released in an instant and he hurtled backwards, trying to break his fall as he reeled against the blow. Finally losing his balance as he stumbled, Shawn fell heavily, cracking his head sharply on what was left of the inner door handle. With a dull groan he dropped to the floor, unconscious before he landed.
Pete’s head flopped back as he realised with relief that he had achieved his aim, now allowing his body to deal with the excruciating pain coursing through it, leaving him breathless and weak. The next sensation he felt was Ashlee’s hands on his ankles. Looking down at his feet through pain-fuelled, misty, tear-glazed eyes, he could just about make out that she was unlocking the cuffs.
“Ash?” he queried as finally the pain began to subside.
“He had the key,” she replied, before snapping the cuffs on Shawn’s ankles, possibly even tighter than Pete had suffered them. “There, see how he likes it!”
Pete smiled at his wife’s more than justified retribution. Pushing himself to his feet, trying not to react to the biting pain he still felt, Pete ushered Ashlee to the door.
“Let’s get Bronx and get out of here.”
“What about Patrick?”
“Later,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I just want to get you both to safety. Watch out for Houseman.”
“What if we see him? What if he has Bronx?”
Pete frowned deeply as he almost appeared to be mulling the question over in his mind.
“If he’s hurt him, I am gonna kill him.” Drawing his lips into a thin line, he reappraised his feelings. “I’m gonna kill him anyway.”
*
Patrick looked around the drab and stark interview room comprising a table, a couple of chairs and a silent police officer, standing glaring at him from near to the door. Patrick looked down at the table and tried to find something about it interesting so that he could at least feign not being scared. It was hopeless. The young singer was confused and terrified. Joe had been attacked, Pete was missing and even Andy believed it was his doing. If Andy believed it, how could a jury not? He wanted desperately to know how Joe was really doing; he didn’t even know what had happened to him and he had the definite feeling that no one was in any hurry to tell him. He wished they’d at least removed his handcuffs. Sitting in considerable discomfort, with the steel circles biting around his wrists, Patrick turned his head to face the officer near the door.
“Could I have some water please?” he asked nervously, only to be ignored utterly. Briefly looking back down at the table, Patrick closed his eyes, his fear wearing him down more than he had expected.
When finally the door opened, Patrick still didn’t look up. It wasn’t out of stubbornness, merely out of terrified exhaustion, but it got him off on the wrong footing immediately.
“Got a cocky one,” one of the detectives announced to Patrick’s surprise.
Looking up only now, Patrick turned dead eyes to the man who was staring down at him. He had been held in the interview room, handcuffed, alone, without counsel and with neither a sip of water nor a restroom break for nearly an hour. One of his friends was missing, another viciously attacked and he had no information on either. The shock of being arrested for the attempted murder of one of his friends had drained him utterly and his mounting concern and dread had used up what little energy that remained. Patrick was fit to drop and they knew it.
“How’s Joe?” he asked finally, ignoring the inflammatory comment from the lead detective.
“What? Want to know if it’s murder yet?”
Patrick paled. “No,” he replied, much more composed than he felt. “He’s my friend and I want to know how he is.”
“Your friend?” the detective raised an eyebrow. “And yet you tried to kill him.”
“Where’s my lawyer?” Patrick asked trying to hold his voice steady.
“You know, I don’t think she’s got the message yet.”
Patrick swallowed; it seemed unlikely that any attempt had been made to get a message to her.
“I’m allowed a phone call.”
“Later,” the second detective growled.
Flipping a switch on a tape recorder fixed to the wall, the first detective spoke.
“Detectives Stokes and Bramall interviewing suspect Patrick Stump for the attempted murder of Joseph Trohman. October 21st, time is seventeen-twenty-three.”
Suddenly, it all felt a little bit too real and Patrick found himself fighting the nausea from the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They believed he was capable of murder. Of the three people he would normally rely on for support, one was in hospital, as Andy had said, critical but stable, another missing and the third appeared to believe it too. He had never felt so utterly alone. This was going to be a long and tense night.
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