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“Do you think we’ll get our usual security guys?” Frank asked hopefully.
Bob shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so, Frankie, Brian has to book with them so far in advance for a tour, it’s unlikely he’ll get them at such short notice.”
“We can’t get security guys we don’t know!” Mikey cried, shocked by the news. “What if word gets out about why, they’ll kill him!”
Ray stared at Bob, alarmed by Mikey’s words; they made a lot of sense.
“He’s right, Bob, we can’t take that risk, get back onto Brian.”
Nodding, Bob lifted the phone once more.
“Don’t worry, Mikey,” Ray tried to buoy his spirits as he slumped into a chair distraught. “Brian isn’t going to tell anyone why we need security.”
Frank’s focus drifted to the window as he noticed movement outside. Rising from the arm of the chair, Frank took a few steps closer to the window while Bob, Ray and Mikey spoke with Brian, this time on speakerphone so they could all hear. The guitarist now stood in the centre of the room frowning as he tried to make out the source of the unusual activity. Frank’s eyes opened wide in horror as a bright flash suddenly lighted the room.
“Oh fuck!” he cried still blinking, dazzled by the flash.
“What was that?” Ray called, as surprised as them all.
“What’s going on?” Brian’s concerned voice sounded over the speaker.
Frank ran to draw the curtains and spun on his heels to face his friends.
“The press!” he cried with alarm.
Mikey’s head snapped up at the words.
“B…but they said… no… they’ll kill him! How did they find out?”
“Maybe they didn’t,” Brian replied remaining calm, “put the news on; see if there’s any mention of it.”
Ray knelt down at the television, which had been pushed backwards during the previous night’s struggle and turned it to face them. The remote was nowhere to be found, but the power and channel switches were easily found under a discreet flap at the base of the monitor. Finding a news channel, the band waited in silence as various headlines were discussed. It seemed that all was quiet on the subject until a photograph of Gerard appeared behind the anchorman. Mikey’s heart sank and he reached for his inhaler as the report began.
“Turn it up!” Frank insisted.
Reaching forward, Ray adjusted the volume on the set and all listened in silence.
“Gerard Way, vocalist with chart topping band My Chemical Romance is rumoured to have been kidnapped. The reports are, as yet, unconfirmed and there has been no comment from the band, their press agent or manager but the source of the rumour is described as ‘reliable’.”
“Brian,” Bob interrupted, “you have to find out how this got out. They said no police or press, if they think we’ve…”
Bob turned to look at Mikey. Seated on the edge of the chair, curled over almost into a ball with his clenched fists covering his eyes, Mikey rocked back and forth.
“Mikey?” he whispered.
The tension was too much and the sense of all eyes on him was more than he could bear. That Gerard was in mortal danger while outside, the press waited, clamouring for all the grisly details; hungry and slavering for a story - it was overwhelming. It began as a slight shudder in his shoulders. His arms shook, trembling at first followed by the sound of his gasps for breath. Frank slipped onto the seat next to him and offered his arms in a comforting embrace. Mikey accepted readily, dissolving into a fit of heart-wrenching sobs as the guitarist pulled him close, gently rocking him.
“Bob,” Brian’s voice was flat, dulled by the depth of emotion in Mikey’s obvious torment. “I’ll find out what’s happening, I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”
“Thanks, Brian,” he replied, his tone as empty as Brian’s.
“And…” Brian paused.
“We’ll…” Bob chewed his bottom lip and sighed, wishing there was more he could do. “We’ll look after him.”
The line went dead and the room fell into silence but for the terrible sound of Mikey’s agonising sobs. And the occasional comforting word from Frank as he rocked him gently in his arms.