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Frank raised his eyes to look at Bob and Ray. Mikey still clung to him, clearly exhausted, he appeared almost to be sleeping, his only movement now was an occasional chest spasm as he caught an uneven breath.
Ray nodded.
“Mikey, I think you should lie down, get some sleep.”
The young bassist peeled his face from Frank’s tear sodden shirt and looked up at his friends. Bob gasped at the sight of him – paler than any of them had ever seen him, with swollen red eyes and an expression a mixture of despair, pleading and fear.
“I can’t sleep,” he whispered, “what if he needs me?”
Frank cupped Mikey’s face in his hands and gently manoeuvred him so he could look directly at him.
“We won’t do anything without your say so,” Frank promised him.
A knock on the door made Bob sigh heavily.
“I’ll get it,” he half turned away discreetly signalling to Ray that Mikey should be taken upstairs. Ray nodded in return as Bob headed for the door.
“Bob!” Frank shouted.
Turning, Bob frowned again at a second more impatient rap at the door.
“Mikey says be careful, that’s how he was attacked.”
Bob nodded to acknowledge the words, but shocked that now Mikey was so upset that his own voice hadn’t been strong enough to convey the message. As he arrived at the door, a third knock made him call out.
“All right!” he snapped as he glanced through the spy hole. His shoulders sagged at the sight of the police officer standing at the door. On opening the door, he noticed that the officer had at least managed to get the press to leave, if only temporarily.
“What can I do for you officer?”
“Which one are you?” came the strange reply.
“Excuse me?”
“In the band, which one are you?”
Bob’s brow wrinkled at the bizarre question.
“Bob Bryar,” he replied, thinking it harmless enough.
“Well, Bob, I have a message for you.”
“What…” Bob began, more confused than ever. He caught only a flash of movement before his mouth dropped open but no sound would come out.
Pulling the knife out of Bob’s side, the man posing as a police officer, the same man who had attacked Mikey, the same man who had informed the press watched as Bob dropped silently to his knees before crumpling onto his left side as blood poured from his wound. Dropping a letter by his side, the man took a quick photograph and left closing the door behind him.
Ray watched with relief as, finally, Frank led the distraught Mikey towards his bedroom. Poor Mikey, he’d had such a rough day.
“Bob,” he called as he headed towards the door. “Who was…”
Ray’s eyes widened at the sight of the drummer lying on the floor with blood oozing through his fingers as he tried without success to cover the wound. Ray dropped to his knees and pressed his palm hard against the stab wound trying to ignore the excruciating agony displayed on Bob’s face. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Ray dialled the emergency services and requested immediate medical help for his friend.
“Who did this to you?” he finally asked.
“A guy… posing as police…he left…”
Bob gave up trying to speak through the pain and raised a shaking hand to point to the letter thrown at his side.
“He’s settled in and…” Frank trailed off taking in the sight now before him. “What the hell…?”
“Get me a clean sheet or towel or something!” Ray demanded frantically trying to stem the flow of blood.
Frank ran to find something, reappearing only moments later with a stack of fresh towels from the linen cupboard. Ray pressed one against Bob’s side and immediately it began to stain red.
“What does that say?” Ray asked nodding at the letter.
“What about an ambulance?” Frank asked still in shock.
“It’s on its way, what does the letter say?”
Frank opened the blood-spattered letter and read.
“It says, ‘You shouldn’t have gone to the press. Gerard will suffer even more than you.’”
“Oh, God!” Ray cried in frustration. “We didn’t do this!”
An urgent knock on the door prompted an unusual response from Ray.
“If that’s the ambulance, get them to prove who they are! They must have ID cards or something. Whoever did this to Bob may just be coming back in a different disguise!”
Frank nodded his understanding as he opened the door.
“You called for an ambulance?”
“Yeah,” Frank nodded again. “Can you prove who you are?”
“Pardon me?” the paramedic asked confused by the question.
“ID cards! Please, he’s bleeding, but we need to know you’re genuine!”
“Sure.”
Showing their cards to Frank, the paramedics entered the hallway and knelt at the drummer’s side examining the wound.
“It’s okay,” one of them reassured the two guitarists. “He’ll be okay.”
Ray stood back from the work that the paramedics did to make Bob comfortable. Shocked, distressed and covered in his friend’s blood, Ray could only stare.
“Ray,” Frank cut into his thoughts. “Bob’s going to need to go to hospital. Can you… Ray are you listening to me?”
“What?” Ray acknowledged.
“Can you go with him? Someone has to stay with Mikey.”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, wiping his hands on a clean towel, still stunned by what had happened.
“I’ll call Brian too, let him know and find out what’s happening about security.” Frank paused. “Are you okay?”
Ray sighed and nodded as the paramedics prepared to leave. “Yeah, I’ll call you later from the hospital.”
Frank frowned as they closed the door behind them. He noticed that some of the press had returned and were already gathering at the door shouting for a statement.
Frank locked the door and turned his back on the noise, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.