Vigilantes

In a rundown apartment complex nearby, Billie Joe Armstrong was injecting a lethal dose of heroin into the veins of a sadistic junkie at the same time Mike was waking to find the space next to him void of the other man. He looked around the room, groggily attempting to recollect feeling any type of movement from the other side of the bed. Having been too heavily in slumber, he never felt Billie crawl from their bed. Yawning, Mike chose to search for where his lover might have gone to and if he needed company. He lifted himself tentatively from the bed and slipped into a pair of sweatpants, his muscles still in protest from the rigors of rough sex, and carried on to investigate Billie’s absence. His first instinct was that Billie had simply gotten up to take a piss, yet this assumption proved to be false when the bathroom held no signs of life inside of it.

On his way to the staircase, Mike poked his head into the makeshift nursery he managed to scrounge together in the few days he’d been living with the Armstrongs. He wished that Billie would have helped just a bit more with it, but the man was consumed with that damned notebook and whatever was written inside of it. Satisfied that his infant son was resting soundly, Mike realized this could be his sole chance at getting his hands on that notebook. Mike practically ran the rest of the way to the living room, his curiosity overwhelming him.

Mike swiftly circled the lower level of the house, then the basement, not finding Billie in either of those places. His car was still in the garage as well, but Mike wasn’t worried. Billie suffered understandable bouts of insomnia and often times chose to handle it with midnight strolls. Mike would only begin to worry once Billie wasn’t home by sunrise…then something was indefinitely awry.

Content that he wouldn’t be caught, Mike returned to the living room and snatched up the discarded little notebook, hungrily pilfering through the pages to find what possibly could have kept his boyfriend so very distracted for three whole days. His primary reaction upon finding said information, though, was far from satisfaction. Mike was utterly horrified. Right at that very moment, Billie wasn’t out walking to clear the demons from his head; he was out to murder someone. Mike ran a trembling hand through his hair, uncertain of what he should do. He wanted so desperately to call Billie, but he knew his cell phone wouldn’t be on…he probably didn’t even have the damned thing with him. The whole murder was so carefully planned, of course Billie wouldn’t allow such a trivial little object stall his actions.

The reality that Billie mapped this crime out so thoroughly frightened Mike. If he was so willing to take a life, who’s to stay he wouldn’t do it again? Mike shook his head violently, trying to rid the thought from his mind…but it wouldn’t leave. He was paranoid for himself, for Jakob, for Joey, and for his son. Could they all be safe living in the same house as a murderer? Dazed and mentally drained, Mike sat morosely upon the couch, placing the notebook on the coffee table before him. All that he could do was wait for his jaded lover to return.

***

Billie fled, his entire body dripping not only with sweat, but with guilt. Sure, the junkie deserved to die, but the mere idea of his own hands causing the death of another human life revolted him. He despised war, genocide, and all types of senseless killing, yet isn’t that was he just went through with? His singular act of premeditated murder instantly transformed him into the very type of person he rebelled against through his lyrics and through his very lifestyle. In an instant, Billie turned himself into a hypocrite, a murderer, a predator. The only thing keeping him from swallowing a bullet right then and there was knowing Nate could no longer harm another child, knowing that he was purely protecting his family, and knowing that he had to stay strong for his boys. He couldn’t imagine their despair at having both parents commit suicide.

Billie’s sprint slowed gradually as he came nearer to his home, but his breath continued to fill and empty his lungs in quick bursts as he entered his front door. Ripping the gloves from his hands, the mask from his face, and the backpack from his shoulders, Billie’s breath hitched in his throat, reducing him to sobs. It wasn’t until Mike coughed anxiously that Billie noticed he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Mike?” he gasped, self-consciously wiping the tears from his face. “What’re you doing up?”

“I woke up, and you weren’t there. Where were you?” Mike questioned slowly, using every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep from exploding at Billie.

“I…needed to get out. Couldn’t sleep,” Billie explained hurriedly, absently scratching his head and failing to make eye contact in his tell-tale signs of unease. His eyes fell upon the notebook on the coffee table, and he noticed Mike frowning down at it. Billie’s breathing quickened once more as he demanded, “Where’d you get that?”

“On the floor where you threw it last night. Did you really kill that kid, Billie?”

The breathless man adamantly refused to respond and simply took to biting his lip and continually shaking his head. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud, for it could potentially incriminate him. The lack of a decent answer caused something inside of Mike to snap. The taller man was up and out of the couch in a flash, advancing on the sweat-soaked, cowering man before him.

“Goddammit, Billie, you had EVERY detail drawn out in that notebook! Did you even stop to think that if the fucking COPS got their hands on this, you’d go to jail for the rest of your life if that kid winds up dead?! Why would you even CONSIDER killing someone in the first place?!” he roared, momentarily forgetting that there were sleeping children upstairs.

“He raped Scarlett,” Billie whispered, “and was going to hurt my son.”

“SO LET THE COPS DO THEIR JOBS AND TAKE CARE OF HIM!”

“They had no evidence! They told me they’d lose a case against that stupid asshole!” Billie wailed, his voice growing increasingly high-pitched and defensive.

“Be that as it may, you have NO RIGHT to take a life! What the hell’s the matter with you?!”

“I couldn’t stand by and not do anything this time, Mike.”

Mike stood silent for a moment, fists clenched tightly at his sides. He knew Billie was referring to the lack of action he took after Adrienne’s attack, and for a fleeting instant realized that he would have felt the same way about Nate, though this realization failed to stem his anger.

“Did you kill him?” Mike pressed, refusing to let the subject drop.

“Why does it matter, huh? Why the fuck does it matter that a rapist is now dead? Thanks to me, he can’t hurt anybody else.”

“You killed him.”

“Yes.”

Before he could stop himself, Mike’s fist lashed out and collided forcefully into Billie’s jaw. Billie stumbled backward, unable to find his footing in time to save himself from falling. He landed with a dull thud on the floor, pain flashing through his jaw and tiny white lights floating in front of his eyes. Billie was stunned that Mike would actually hit him.

“What was that for?” Billie whimpered, his eyes once again spilling tears.

“For being a dumbass,” Mike scoffed, unconcerned with helping his boyfriend up off the ground as he crossed his arms disapprovingly over his chest.

“But Joey didn’t get gonorrhea from Scarlett. That pervert raped him.”

“No he didn’t!” Mike shouted, then quickly recoiled.

“What did you just say? How the flying fuck could you know he wasn’t raping him?”

Mike avoided the question entirely and responded with, “We never had this conversation. If the cops have any reason to think it was you, I’ll tell them you were here the whole night...and burn that fucking notebook.”

“Mike, you didn’t answer-”

“Burn it,” Mike commanded, proceeding to exit the living room.

Billie pathetically stayed in a heap on the floor, glaring at the menacing spiral-bound piece of evidence lying on the coffee table. He was working up the courage to rip out his murder plans and burn them in the fireplace…but for now, all he could do was cry into the carpet, repeatedly calling out Mike’s name and the words “I’m sorry.”