Good Man

"Without accepting the fact that everything changes, we cannot find perfect composure. But unfortunately, although it is true, it is difficult for us to accept it. Because we cannot accept the truth of transience, we suffer."
- Shunryu Suzuki



Autumn is the best time to be in the Bay area. The weather is warm without the chill the summer fog brings when it rolls in, there aren't as many tourists which piss you off with their cameras going off when they take pictures of landmarks or if they spot a celebrity and add to the extra traffic going across the bridges, and for Caroline, it was a time to celebrate her son's birthday.

In just two days' time, Michael Ryan, Jr. would being officially turning three years old. He was growing up so fast in his mother's eyes and it added sadness to them when she thought about how her husband wouldn't be there at her side, physically, to help raise their son together.

And while Caroline contemplated what kind of cake she was gonna bake for Mikey, she laid on her stomach on her bed with a cook book specializing in theme cakes for children in front of her while she watched a bit of late night news on the flat screen television on the wall across from her.

There was some comment about a mudslide downstate in Malibu but that kind of report wasn't anything new to anyone living in California, as tragic as it may be to those people who lost their homes and whatnot.

But when the second anchor started their spiel about a trial, her ears perked and her attention was focused away from the cook book.

Lifting her hazel eyes, Caroline looked up at the television screen and frowned deeply with the news footage being shown to the anchor's commentary.

"...and jury selection is underway for the highly anticipated trial, the State of California versus Dean Calkins, wherein the prosecution is headed up by George Butterworth, the Managing Attorney for the DA's Homicide Unit..."



A few blocks away, Billie Joe was lighting up a cigarette with his short but still hairy man legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles as he flipped to the late night news until Conan came on. He sat up straighter as a particular comment was being made, just as Adrienne walked into the bedroom from the bathroom and sank down to her side of the mattress to watch with her husband.

"District Attorney Kamala D. Harris spoke candidly earlier this evening at a press conference on behalf of the victim Michael Pritchard, more commonly known as Mike Dirnt of Green Day, as well as his loved ones left behind after this crime..."



"We at the District Attorney's office are going to fight for the justice that Dean Calkins' victim so rightly deserves. What Dean Calkins did was cruel and unforgiving. He committed a terrible, irreversible crime in the presence of not only the victim Michael Pritchard's wife, Caroline, but also in the presence of their fans...their supporters who loved and adored them, several of them being minors. This senseless deed has sent a shockwave of grief, loss and anger throughout this country and international borders to those who enjoyed and respected the music created by Mr. Pritchard and his band," DA Harris spoke on the press conference footage. "Until the 1st of October and beyond that, we ask all of the city of San Francisco, surrounding areas, all the states in this country we call home, and those who are awaiting this trial just as eagerly across our own borders and across the waters to support the family and friends of Mr. Michael Pritchard. Think of his children left without their father, his wife left without her husband, his bandmates left without their best friend, and his other family, left without their son or brother. Think not only of the justice in need for him, but of those close to him, in need of peace..."

Tre turned to his left and looked upon Giselle's profile to see her dabbing her eyes with the bedsheet she'd pulled up to her chest as they lay side by side together in bed, watching the late night news.

"She's good," Giselle muttered.

"Yeah," Tre replied lamely. He was unsure of how he should react. A part of him wanted to sob openly and show up his wife in the tears department, but for the life of him...he couldn't.

And it's not that he didn't want to either, because Lord knows he had a lot of tears waiting to be released but it seemed there was this mental blockage holding up the traffic, so to speak; keeping the tears at bay and causing a clog of emotions that could turn into a dangerous outpouring at some later date if he couldn't release the feelings he was trying to deal with.

"Babe?"

Giselle turned to face her husband. "Yeah?"

Instead of replying, he met her with a kiss and leaned his body forward against hers, signaling he wanted a little somethin'-somethin'.

At this point, it was the only way he could think of to take care of his emotions.

To fuck them away.



The following day, the city of San Francisco was ablaze with gossip about the stunning turn of events that had unfolded in the early hours of the morning in one Dean Calkin's holding cell at County Jail #8 at 425 7th Street, near the Hall of Justice.

"According to Corrections Officer Theodore Bartkowiak, he was making his usual morning rounds to wake the defendant remanded to the county jail, Dean Calkins, for his weekly bunk inspection when Calkins refused to respond to his wake up call. When Bartkowiak then stepped into Calkins' bunk he was surprised to find Calkins was laying on his back, eyes open and laying in a pool of his own blood. As it turns out, the defendant, Calkins, had come into the possession of a homemade knife and slit his own throat sometime during the night. Medical examiners called to the scene believe he had been dead for near four hours when Corrections Officer Bartkowiak found him."

Billie Joe was in the midst of drinking a cup of coffee when he ended up spitting it out all over the kitchen counter and onto the floor as he listened to the news report that had interrupted The View.

"At this time, all other prisoners in the custody of County Jail #8 who have had contact or have interacted with Calkins will be questioned in how he attained the weapon in which he caused his own death. However, some speculate an answer might not be easy to come by because apparently, several of the prisoners despised Calkins for the crime he committed well over a month ago."

Billie Joe wiped the coffee dribble from his lips and chin, then turned off the small television set installed onto the underside of a kitchen cupboard.

"Fuck me," he muttered. "Fuck me. That cocksucker took the fuckin' coward's way out!" he shouted to no one in particular.

Almost at a running pace, Adrienne scurried into the kitchen archway and peered in; one sandal on, the other in her left hand as she was clearly getting ready to go somewhere.

"What the hell are you shouting about?"

"Calkins! Fuckin' Dean Calkins sliced his own throat last night in his holding cell and was found dead by some guard this morning. He committed fucking suicide so he didn't have to go through with facing the motherfucking music! I want to kill that murderer. I want to raise him from the fucking dead and pound his face in, then stab him in the goddamn jaw with a soldering iron until he cries fuckin' blood, begging me to stop only for me to fuckin' stab him some more."

"Oh...holy shit..." Adrienne mumbled, dropping her other sandal to the ground with a dull echo of rubber hitting tile. Sliding her bare foot into said sandal, she stepped forward and placed her right hand on the nearby countertop, staring at her husband. "Do you think Care knows?"

Billie Joe placed a hand to his forehead and shrugged. "Fuck if I know."

"Well, I can be late to my dentist appointment if you wanna go to her place so we can find out..." Adrienne offered, but her husband shook his head.

"No," he muttered. "Go to your appointment. I'll give Tre a call and he can come with me or meet me there..."

"You sure?"

Billie Joe nodded. "Yeah. Go on."

"Alright," Adrienne hesitated. Stepping closer to her green-eyed man, she kissed him gently and then began to leave the kitchen. "Love you, babe. Be careful."

"I will."



As promised, Billie Joe called his remaining best friend, Tre, who decided to just meet him at Caroline's house. With their own sets of house keys for the Pritchard residence, they unlocked the door and walked right inside to the foyer. Walking straight ahead, they reached the kitchen where they heard the clattering of spoons in bowls and toddler chatter.

Sitting in a high chair eating milkless Cheerios out of a plastic, hot pink bowl was Chloe who was blabbering away with only every other word or so being decipherable. Then there was Mikey who was sitting nearby at the table in the breakfast nook, on a booster seat, as he ate a real bowl of Cheerios, complete with the milk and a sippy cup filled with either more milk, or possibly a fruit juice from concentrate of some sort.

"Mommy, Chee-wee-o's all smushy."

"That's because you're fooling around. Stop playing, start eating," came Caroline's motherly tone.

Billie Joe and Tre couldn't help but smirk despite the reason for them showing up. To hear and see Caroline in any kind of motherly manner these days was a good thing to witness.

"Hey," the guitarist called out as he stepped into the kitchen with Tre tailing behind.

Caroline looked up over her shoulder from where she sat kitty corner to her son and beside her daughter's high chair; her back to the two men. "Oh, hey..." she responded lamely.

"How're the munchkins today?" Tre questioned, throwing a smile at Mikey who grinned back, but spitting out some soggy Cheerios in the process he'd been trying to keep clamped between his tiny white teeth.

"Mikey, swallow your food," she reprimanded.

In a swift gesture, Mikey sucked the Cheerios left on his bottom lip back into his mouth and swallowed them, obeyingly.

As her shoulders seemed to puff up to show she was being strong today, Caroline turned sideways in her chair and looked fully upon Billie Joe and Tre.

"I take it you're here about the news report," she commented blandly.

"So, uh...you saw it, too?" Billie Joe fumbled a bit over his words.

Caroline nodded. "Yeah. I saw it alright."

Pushing herself up out of her chair, she let her right hand linger onto her daughter's cheek and leaned down to kiss the tip of the little girl's nose before standing up straight and moving toward the kitchen sink with a coffee cup in her other hand. She poured the remains of cold coffee into the sink and rinsed it out quickly, just to leave it in the gray basin.

Turning around, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms.

Both men took in how impeccably she was dressed in a black blazer with white pinstripes, black dress slacks and a pair of black Daisy Leather Anklet Jimmy Choo boots. Her brown hair was down, styled slightly and looked incredibly soft.

"So...how d'ya take the news?" Tre wondered.

Looking briefly down at her kitchen floor, Caroline straightened her posture a bit more before looking back up at Tre. "How did I take the news about that...monster taking his own life like a coward?" she reiterated. Caroline shrugged. "I thought him being dead and gone would make it all better. But, you know what? This doesn't change a thing." She paused, bit her lip a little and then shifted her gaze away. "Mike's still not coming back..."

"Is there anything we can do for you right now, Care? This kinda thing isn't exactly good news, nor is it really all that bad. It's...confusing," Billie Joe added.

Shaking her head, the hazel-eyed woman leaned off of the counter and reached for her purse that was sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"I'm heading into the city this afternoon for a meeting with the Reprise power players, including Rob," she answered with a sigh. "They wanna discuss the third album me and the guys have yet to put out. Dave and Nef are meeting me there."

"The label wants to do this now? That's fucktarded," Billie Joe snipped.

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch, right?" Caroline muttered tiredly. "Dead husband or not, they want to meet with me and the guys, so...who wants to watch my kids for a few hours?"



On the drive into the city, all Caroline wanted to do was ignore the fact that her husband's killer had killed himself three days before his first day in trial. She didn't want to think about what the media was saying or what anyone else in the world who was up with what was going on thought either. She didn't want to hear the gossip, she didn't want to hear any more condolences from people who didn't even know her husband or her and her family. She didn't want to listen to anything pertaining to what left her feeling hollow every morning she awoke in an empty bed.

She wanted to take her mind off it all for the short time she'd be bound to her vehicle.

Putting in a mixed CD of some of her favorite songs that soothed her soul whenever she drove anywhere, she skipped ahead to the third song on the disc and let the sounds take her on a small journey of melody and harmony as the scenery passed her by.

She listened to The Fray's 'Little House' because it was just so beautiful to her and seemed to sum up a lot of what she was feeling in not only the music's flow but slightly in the words as well.

"Something is scratching its way out...something you want to forget about," she sang along.

When the drive brought her finally into the city, she found the exact location for where she had to be because she'd been to this certain building more than once in her time of being part of a recording act for Reprise.

It was where she first met with Reprise execs, along with Rob, when her and her band were first signed to a three-album deal.

Parking her vehicle in the parking garage below, she walked cautiously to the elevators and pressed the button to take her to the proper floor, which eventually opened up, allowing her to step out when she was at the right place.

She walked down a short corridor, passing a receptionist who's nod of head was laced with condolence.

There it was again.

That damn 'I'm so sorry for your loss' look.

Caroline was beginning to loathe that fucking look with a fiery passion that was hotter than the seven circles of hell where that motherfucking murderer was rotting and burning this very moment!

Breathe, Caroline. Just breathe.

Coming upon the board room in question where the meeting would take place, she knocked lightly, then poked her head inside.

Dave and Nef were both already seated and waiting. Rob was sitting across the way with the other honchos, while one seat between her boys was left empty for her.

Smiling meekly, she muttered a small hello and entered the room, closing the door behind her. And as she took her seat, she awaited to see what details about this meeting would unfold and how...