Vigilantes

Scarlett Novaczek and Billie Joe Armstrong were released from the hospital on the same day, even within the same hour, though the pair was hardly aware of the simple coincidence. The recovering rape victims were lost in their own sea of irrational thoughts based upon rational fears, but what they feared was entirely different. Scarlett believed her rapist was dead, so her horrors were focused more along the lines of what her foster parents would say when she asked them if she could see a shrink, whether or not Joey Armstrong was a victim of her ex-boyfriend’s narcissism, and what her friends would say upon seeing her bandaged, shaved head. Her fears circled around a plethora of different circumstances caused by one sole person. Her rapist. Billie, on the other hand, was wholly haunted by Mike. All his worries came to one person in the end because his rapist was still very much alive. There was no escaping the simple fact that the broken man needed closure, despite how very much he would adore denying it. His plan was to move on, to forget…to fix his problem; however, it’s incredibly difficult to change a person on your own, and to make something so tragic disappear entirely. In his terror-driven optimism, Billie failed to realize he was incapable of accomplishing this on his own.

Scarlett and Billie ran into each other once during their stays at the hospital, and the reunion was awkward at best. Naturally, the girl whispered her silent thank-you’s to Billie, knowing full well that he was responsible for the death of her ex-boyfriend. The man merely nodded in return, keeping his gaze steadily upon his comatose son. His hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair with alarming ferocity, grief for Joey submitting him to a temporary state of agitation. Mike, taking the doctor’s words to heart and wanting nothing more than a rapid recovery for Billie, stood loyally behind the wheelchair waiting for his boyfriend’s instructions.

***

“I can’t fucking believe I’m stuck in this wheelchair,” Billie grumbled after a desperate struggle of getting himself into the damned object.

“It’ll help you heal faster while you're in the hospital, Beej. Walking raises your chances of the stitches breaking open…you heard what the doctor said,” Mike explained slowly. “Now, where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere. Fuck being in this room,” Billie declared, but was abruptly blindsided by another thought. “Take me to Joey’s room.”

“But I dunno where his-”

“Find out,” Billie interrupted coldly. “It is your fault he’s here.”

Mike was virtually silent during the rest of their journey through the solemn hallways of the hospital, for Billie’s words and the reality that he severely maimed a child made him sick to his stomach. Luckily for him, he hardly even noticed Scarlett’s horrified expression upon hearing him speak for the first time. It was as if the girl had seen a ghost.

***

Billie’s mixed feelings towards Mike left his mind constantly reeling. One moment he couldn’t understand why he was trying so damn hard to help Mike when his rightful place should be in jail…or locked up in a mental institution. The next he was furious with himself for even considering abandoning the man who would, quite literally, do anything for his partner to make him happy. Then, of course, there was the internal battle of semantics as to whether or not it was moral allowing Mike to live as if he’d done nothing wrong. The constant worry over his decision eventually drove Billie to a sense of apathetic resentment towards Mike.

“Can I get you anything, Billie?”

The smaller man poked his head out from under the blanket he’d taken refuge under, feelings of security driving him to remain curled in a ball underneath this blanket for hours on end. Every once in a while he would shake himself awake enough to watch TV or scribble down a potentially decent song lyric, but his favored pastime would continue to be sleeping under that blanket on the couch. Though it had only been two days since his return home from the hospital, Mike worried that his boyfriend was slipping dangerously far into the realm of depression.

“No,” Billie responded curtly, disappearing once more beneath the blanket.

Mike hovered in front of him for an instant, and though Billie couldn’t see him standing there, he could feel his eyes tearing holes straight through his security blanket.

“You sure? You haven’t eaten anything since last night,” Mike persisted.

“I haven’t been hungry since last night,” Billie snapped, growing increasingly tense.

“Honey, you need to eat something. I know you’re not feeling the greatest, but cutting yourself off from everything isn’t going to help.”

“Relax, I’m in pain. That’s it. Once I’m all healed up, I’ll be a ray of fucking sunshine again, ok?”

Mike mused for a moment, sensing a deeper problem. His insanity made it impossible for him to grasp that his violence towards Billie pushed him farther away than he would have liked, but it certainly did not make it impossible for him to care. Wasn’t his hyperactive sense of caring what drove him mad in the first place?

“Billie, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

“You. Go away.”

Mike bit his lip, far from satisfied by Billie’s answer but unable to continue the conversation…or lack thereof. He sighed, leaving to allow Billie to wallow in his pain alone for the time being.

“What if Joey doesn’t make it?”

Mike whirled around, eyes falling upon his bloodshot partner’s, stunned that he’d spoken at all.

“Don’t think like that, of course he’ll make it,” Mike whispered as he proceeded to kneel in front of Billie, grasping his hands in his own.

“I just keep worrying that he’ll never wake up again, or that the goddamn internal bleeding will start again…Mike, why did you hurt him? Why’d you try to kill my little boy?”

Mike’s mouth opened and closed as he desperately searched his mind for an answer, but nothing he came up with sounded remotely justifiable as to why he would hurt the child. Fortunately enough for Mike, an urgent pounding on the front door removed him from the conversation. The three visitors on the other side of the door, though, made the man feel particularly less fortunate.

“May I help you?” Mike asked morosely, knowing this was not going to end well.

“Yes, is Billie Joe Armstrong home? It’s urgent that we speak with him,” a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties announced, peering anxiously into the house. The detectives standing on either side of her, however, looked chillingly less pleased to be there.

“He’s not up to coming to the door, can this wait unt-”

“Then we’ll come in,” Detective Morano insisted, pushing his way past Mike and into the house, spotting the trembling man on the couch. Detective Leone and the woman followed suit.

“Mr. Armstrong, you’ve been served,” the woman declared importantly, thrusting a rather large packet at Billie.

Billie stared at the packet, reading the large bolded word on top: Subpoena. He was only vaguely aware of what the document meant.

“What?” he inquired.

“Assistant District Attorney Liza Winters has issued you a subpoena compelling you to cooperate with our investigation. We need that DNA, Billie,” Detective Leone explained halfheartedly.

“And if I don’t cooperate?” Billie murmured.

“Then these fine detectives will arrest you for obstruction of justice,” ADA Winters replied, then added with an unnerving laugh, “They also have a warrant to search the premises.”

“For what?!”

“Evidence, dear, what else?”

Billie gulped, his fear of Mike being caught becoming a reality. With wobbly, unstable legs, he stood to face the three people before him and raised his hands in front of him in defeat.

“Then arrest me. You’re not getting the results of my rape-kit,” Billie pronounced.

Detective Leone hesitated slightly before slapping the handcuffs on Billie’s wrists and reading him his rights. Something about the sickened expression on his face said that he was beyond uncomfortable with arresting a rape victim to collect evidence, break in the case or not.