Categories > Celebrities > Marilyn Manson
“Hey you, get away from there.” Officer Johnston had had enough of the drunken man for one night. He had been called because there was a public disturbance. That could have been anything and as an officer of the law he thought that he had been prepared for just about anything. What he hadn’t been prepared for was a nearly naked man dancing on the roof of a building. His first priority was to get the man down. Assuming that he did do quietly there would be no charges laid, and the man would wake up in “the tank.” More than likely confused and hung over but no worse for the ware.
There was someone yelling at him to get down. At first he was a bit pissed off that someone would have the nerve to yell at HIM. The God Of Fuck himself. He lost interest pretty quickly and became terrified when he realized that it was a police officer. His last couple of run-ins with the Pig Patrol had not been good ones. He set about getting down. It had taken him 3 minutes to get up there and less than 30 seconds to get down. He was hoping that if he went quietly they wouldn’t feel inclined to hurt him.
Once he was on the ground Officer Johnston ordered him to get down on his knees and put his hands behind his head. As the man complied he realized a few things. The first was that the man was shaking; obviously nervous. The second was that he looked a lot like that freak of a rock star that his 17-year-old son liked and idolized. For the life of him he couldn’t think of the bands name. He figured that it wasn’t really important anyway.
When the officer touched him he jumped. It was then that Officer Johnston realized that the man wasn’t shaking out of nervousness but fear. What on earth was this man afraid of? He had been told right down to the letter what was going to happen to him and that he really wasn’t in any trouble. Johnston puzzled over that as he drove him to the station.
He brought the trembling man into the station and placed him the drunk tank. He sat at the small desk and did the appropriate paperwork. “What’s your name?”
The man looked up at him immediately. His eyes wide with fear, Johnston thought that this was silly. There was nothing to fear. If he was drunk the police station was exactly where he’d want to be. Nothing like a whole group of dedicated people to make sure that you got home safe in the morning (not to mention that you didn’t dance naked on roof tops).
The man licked his lips. “M-m-marilyn M-ma-muh-manson.”
Johnston cocked his eyebrow. The man stood up, eyeing the cop as if asking for permission. Seeing that the cop wasn’t going to taser into a heart attack he fished his wallet out of his pocket. He got his Driver’s License and Birth Certificate out of their pouches and held them between two fingers through the bars. He nearly dropped them when the officer took them from him.
He was shocked. They both said that his name was Marilyn Manson. When he stared at the young man, the man dropped to the floor and sat with his knees up against his chest. The young man started rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself. Once Johnston caught the words he realized that this WAS the rock star that his son thought was the coolest thing ever.
“I had a little monkey and I brought him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread. Along came a choo-choo knocked my monkey coo-coo and now my monkey’s dead, at least he looks that way. Poor little monkey.”
At that point, Chief Berney came in. He took one look at the man rocking in the cell and snickered. “He back again? Such a fucking waste.”
Manson wanted to curl up and die. He was praying to a god that he didn’t believe in to make his heart stop beating. If that happened they’d have to take him to the hospital and then he wouldn’t be under so many eyes. When the chief came in it was made that much worse. Why was he still a victim? It had been years since he was here, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He had a lawyer and he knew what the officers could and couldn’t get away with. Even armed with that he still felt trapped.
He had been cold he remembered that. He had been angry. They had arrested him purely on the principle that he was a gothy looking kid out on the streets at midnight. He lay on the floor holding his ribs. That bastard, Officer Berney had came in, he had beaten him saying that he had resisted arrest. Manson had done no such thing but that bitch’s superiors weren’t going to believe some kid against a cop with a spotless record.
What had happened that night was still a blur. Officer Berney had unlocked his cell and walked right in. He had his handcuffs, pepper spray and the taser, not to mention that he outweighed Warner by about 50 pounds. He had spent most of that night on his stomach, his pants on the floor, biting his lip bloody and reminding himself that it had to end sometime.
Now he was older. He could spit in that bastards face. He could beat the fuck out of him, lie about it and get off…scott free. He was Marilyn-fucking-Manson and nobody hurt him. He was thankful when Officer Johnston said that there was a phone call for the chief in his office.
Johnston was equally glad when the chief left. It seemed like the entire time he was there the other guy was just waiting for him to do something bad. He walked over to the cell. “Mr. Manson?”
The man looked up.
“Are you okay?”
Manson wanted to shout at him to leave him alone. He wanted to curl into a ball and stay that way until morning. He wanted to punch something. More than anything he wanted his bodyguard. He wanted to know that if something did go wrong than someone would be there to protect him. He nodded but at the same time his eyes filled with unshed tears.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something had happened to that kid and that the Chief had a big part to do with it. Just the fact that Manson seemed to relax once the he was out of the room said all that needed to be said. He had the sudden urge to hug the smaller man as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t make a sound. He knew that noise would only attract attention and that was the last thing that he wanted.
“I can’t let you go until morning. You know that right?”
“Yes sir.” His voice was a whisper.
“Is there anything that you’d like me to do?”
Manson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t let him touch me. Please don’t let him anywhere near me.”
Johnston noted that his tremble was back. “It’s alright. I’m here for the rest of the night. He raped you, didn’t he?”
Manson stared at the ground, feeling very young. He nodded but refused to say anything more. Johnston didn’t press the issue. As the chief and best friend of quite a few people in places of power he was basically untouchable. This young man wasn’t the first of his victims and he wouldn’t be the last. Johnston decided that he’d stay right there until morning. There was plenty of paperwork that he needed to catch up on.
Six in the morning and Manson regains consciousness. At some point the alcohol that he consumed got the better of him and he passed out. Now he was awake and sore. He carefully picked himself up off the floor. He knew where he was. If you’ve seen the inside of one drunk tank then you’ve seen them all.
There was an officer standing near a small filing cabinet looking exhausted. Johnston had fought with his boss to stay there all night. He had wanted o make sure that the man remained fine. He turned when he heard a loud pop. Manson was arching with his hands on the small of his back; the popping sound had been his spine.
Johnston walked over to the cell. “Mr. Manson, I just need you to sign a few things before you can leave.”
“Okay.”
He signed the necessary paperwork. He was a bit surprised when he found a promo of himself in with the papers. There was a post-it stuck to it that said, “His name is Jonathan.” Manson signed the picture for the fan that the officer knew.
Manson walked out the door. Johnston was surprised. In everything that Jonathan had spewed about the man, he had always made it sound like he had everything together. Now he realized that he was just as scared if the world and the evils that are there, as the rest of the population.
He gathered up everything he would need to go home and walked out the door.
The End
There was someone yelling at him to get down. At first he was a bit pissed off that someone would have the nerve to yell at HIM. The God Of Fuck himself. He lost interest pretty quickly and became terrified when he realized that it was a police officer. His last couple of run-ins with the Pig Patrol had not been good ones. He set about getting down. It had taken him 3 minutes to get up there and less than 30 seconds to get down. He was hoping that if he went quietly they wouldn’t feel inclined to hurt him.
Once he was on the ground Officer Johnston ordered him to get down on his knees and put his hands behind his head. As the man complied he realized a few things. The first was that the man was shaking; obviously nervous. The second was that he looked a lot like that freak of a rock star that his 17-year-old son liked and idolized. For the life of him he couldn’t think of the bands name. He figured that it wasn’t really important anyway.
When the officer touched him he jumped. It was then that Officer Johnston realized that the man wasn’t shaking out of nervousness but fear. What on earth was this man afraid of? He had been told right down to the letter what was going to happen to him and that he really wasn’t in any trouble. Johnston puzzled over that as he drove him to the station.
He brought the trembling man into the station and placed him the drunk tank. He sat at the small desk and did the appropriate paperwork. “What’s your name?”
The man looked up at him immediately. His eyes wide with fear, Johnston thought that this was silly. There was nothing to fear. If he was drunk the police station was exactly where he’d want to be. Nothing like a whole group of dedicated people to make sure that you got home safe in the morning (not to mention that you didn’t dance naked on roof tops).
The man licked his lips. “M-m-marilyn M-ma-muh-manson.”
Johnston cocked his eyebrow. The man stood up, eyeing the cop as if asking for permission. Seeing that the cop wasn’t going to taser into a heart attack he fished his wallet out of his pocket. He got his Driver’s License and Birth Certificate out of their pouches and held them between two fingers through the bars. He nearly dropped them when the officer took them from him.
He was shocked. They both said that his name was Marilyn Manson. When he stared at the young man, the man dropped to the floor and sat with his knees up against his chest. The young man started rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself. Once Johnston caught the words he realized that this WAS the rock star that his son thought was the coolest thing ever.
“I had a little monkey and I brought him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread. Along came a choo-choo knocked my monkey coo-coo and now my monkey’s dead, at least he looks that way. Poor little monkey.”
At that point, Chief Berney came in. He took one look at the man rocking in the cell and snickered. “He back again? Such a fucking waste.”
Manson wanted to curl up and die. He was praying to a god that he didn’t believe in to make his heart stop beating. If that happened they’d have to take him to the hospital and then he wouldn’t be under so many eyes. When the chief came in it was made that much worse. Why was he still a victim? It had been years since he was here, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He had a lawyer and he knew what the officers could and couldn’t get away with. Even armed with that he still felt trapped.
He had been cold he remembered that. He had been angry. They had arrested him purely on the principle that he was a gothy looking kid out on the streets at midnight. He lay on the floor holding his ribs. That bastard, Officer Berney had came in, he had beaten him saying that he had resisted arrest. Manson had done no such thing but that bitch’s superiors weren’t going to believe some kid against a cop with a spotless record.
What had happened that night was still a blur. Officer Berney had unlocked his cell and walked right in. He had his handcuffs, pepper spray and the taser, not to mention that he outweighed Warner by about 50 pounds. He had spent most of that night on his stomach, his pants on the floor, biting his lip bloody and reminding himself that it had to end sometime.
Now he was older. He could spit in that bastards face. He could beat the fuck out of him, lie about it and get off…scott free. He was Marilyn-fucking-Manson and nobody hurt him. He was thankful when Officer Johnston said that there was a phone call for the chief in his office.
Johnston was equally glad when the chief left. It seemed like the entire time he was there the other guy was just waiting for him to do something bad. He walked over to the cell. “Mr. Manson?”
The man looked up.
“Are you okay?”
Manson wanted to shout at him to leave him alone. He wanted to curl into a ball and stay that way until morning. He wanted to punch something. More than anything he wanted his bodyguard. He wanted to know that if something did go wrong than someone would be there to protect him. He nodded but at the same time his eyes filled with unshed tears.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something had happened to that kid and that the Chief had a big part to do with it. Just the fact that Manson seemed to relax once the he was out of the room said all that needed to be said. He had the sudden urge to hug the smaller man as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t make a sound. He knew that noise would only attract attention and that was the last thing that he wanted.
“I can’t let you go until morning. You know that right?”
“Yes sir.” His voice was a whisper.
“Is there anything that you’d like me to do?”
Manson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t let him touch me. Please don’t let him anywhere near me.”
Johnston noted that his tremble was back. “It’s alright. I’m here for the rest of the night. He raped you, didn’t he?”
Manson stared at the ground, feeling very young. He nodded but refused to say anything more. Johnston didn’t press the issue. As the chief and best friend of quite a few people in places of power he was basically untouchable. This young man wasn’t the first of his victims and he wouldn’t be the last. Johnston decided that he’d stay right there until morning. There was plenty of paperwork that he needed to catch up on.
Six in the morning and Manson regains consciousness. At some point the alcohol that he consumed got the better of him and he passed out. Now he was awake and sore. He carefully picked himself up off the floor. He knew where he was. If you’ve seen the inside of one drunk tank then you’ve seen them all.
There was an officer standing near a small filing cabinet looking exhausted. Johnston had fought with his boss to stay there all night. He had wanted o make sure that the man remained fine. He turned when he heard a loud pop. Manson was arching with his hands on the small of his back; the popping sound had been his spine.
Johnston walked over to the cell. “Mr. Manson, I just need you to sign a few things before you can leave.”
“Okay.”
He signed the necessary paperwork. He was a bit surprised when he found a promo of himself in with the papers. There was a post-it stuck to it that said, “His name is Jonathan.” Manson signed the picture for the fan that the officer knew.
Manson walked out the door. Johnston was surprised. In everything that Jonathan had spewed about the man, he had always made it sound like he had everything together. Now he realized that he was just as scared if the world and the evils that are there, as the rest of the population.
He gathered up everything he would need to go home and walked out the door.
The End
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