Going to Pasalacqua

The following three days came in a blurry, sober fashion. It was officially a week since Adeline had disappeared and nothing had changed. Every morning I would call to the police station in LA and ask for officer Randy. To ask him if he had found anything new. And everyday he had the same answer for me.

“Billie... I'm really sorry, but...”

I was honestly getting sick of hearing it. Were they even trying? Sure as hell didn't feel like it. No matter how much Mike told me they were doing all they could and how many nights Ollie stayed up till one talking to me, nothing was changing. But I was.

In the worst way possible too, I was deteriorating myself. Bloodshot eyes, unresponsive with anymore than a grunt. I stumbled down the halls and never left my home. Day before yesterday Tré and Mike dragged me out for some fresh air at the studio. To put all my angst to paper and let it out.

I sat there in the basement of the studio for forty-five minutes on the shabby couch that smelled like alcohol and pot. A notebook on my lap, on a empty page. Blank and ready to be stained with my thoughts. But instead of writing anything, I dropped my head into my hands and bawled my eyes out. I emerged from the basement two hours later with red, bloodshot eyes, going straight home. 

Obviously I was failing at everything. I was being avoided and felt like I was losing sight of everything I once held dear. It all felt so distant and unnecessary now that I made the effort to have a music career. 

I heard the phone ring and I waited until after the second ring to pick up. 

“Hello?” I sighed.

“Billie Joe Armstrong? This is officer Randy, we've got a new lead on Adeline. It's led us to a abandoned warehouse off of one-eighty.”

“Have you found her yet?” I demanded, straining to hear every word.

“No, we are looking into it, you just hang tight and we'll phone you if anything changes, stay close.”

“I will.” I nodded eagerly even though he couldn't see me. The line went dead and I hopped out of bed and threw on a wrinkled grey t-shirt and black skinny jeans. I paced the living room for several minutes, imagining worst case scenario. What was happening?

ring ring 

I grabbed the phone. “Hello?!”

I listened closely to noisy footfalls and panting. 

“Hello?”

“Billie?” the person hissed.

“Adeline? Where are you? Are you ok? I was so—”

“Shh! He'll hear you.” she warned. I heard shuffling in the background.

“Who will hear you? Adeline?”

“...Shit he's coming!” I heard more rustling and tried to hear it out.

“Adeline? I know you're in here” someone laughed in the background. Then all I could hear was Adeline's panicked breaths.

Then all I could hear was her screams, high pitched and frantic “Billie! Billie help me!” she screamed. But she was a four hour drive away from me, I stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

“Billie! Warehouse A11! hurr—”

I heard the dial tone “Adeline? Adeline!” I yelled into the phone, panicked.  I didn't fuck with my hair, or waste any time, I  ran out the front door, coming to a stop when I released I didn't have my license or car. I sighed in frustration and ran inside to phone Mike. He was over at Tré's practicing some new songs.

“Mike! You guys need to get over here quickly, bring a map of Los Angeles too.” I panted.

I received the dial tone, and less than five minutes later the orange van flew in my driveway, passengers door flying open.

“Get in!” Mike yelled from the wheel. 

I got in, left a note for Ollie on the door, and we took off in the direction of LA. Ollie is going to be so pissed I didn't tell her, but what was I supposed to do? 

It's 1991. I don't own a cellphone. Neither did Adeline, we'd both seen them, bulky and retarded looking, in the proud window of the tech store on main. We'd laughed at them then, but God I'd kill to have one in my possession right now. 

“Mike, faster!” I growled through clenched teeth as I clawed at the seat. Digging my fingernails inti the leather in agony. Four hours at this rate, I could loose her for good. Her obvious escaping stunt obviously hadn't worked. Would she be punished for it? Killed?  I leant forward and drew in shallow jagged breaths while Rodeo crept past us. When we got onto the wide open free way, Mike sped up as much as I could. Saying it'd be better to find Adeline conscious than all of us in the van being in comas. I reluctantly agreed. Gripping the seat further in agitation. 

“Deep breaths.” Mike reminded me, tapping the gas pedal a little over seventy. 

I took another deep breath and leant forward. This was going to be a very, very long trip.

Adeline's Point of View

“Billie! Billie help me!” I screamed and dropped the phone. He wrapped his arms around my neck and tried to choke me. I bit his arm and jerked away gasping for a breath,

“Billie! Warehouse A11, hurr—”

bang 

The phone shattered to bits. 

I spun around, he held a gun. It was still pointed at the dismantled phone. His amber eyes flashed up to meet mine, “That... Was perhaps the stupidest thing you could have done, Adeline.” 

He showed no humor, anger or smugness. No emotion at all, for that matter. For the first time since falling into his hands, I actually felt fear. 

“I really should just kill you now, I mean... I wouldn't mind your blood on my hands. But my dad is going to have a fit, he wanted to do it himself.” he shrugged, but showed no remorse for my impending doom. 

He took several steps towards me until we faced each other chest to chest, I stared up at him and he stared down at me. His clothes reeked of cologne. 

He lifted the gun and toted with it between his fingers. “This would be too easy, a bullet to the head? Too painless... You need to feel the pain. Enveloping every inch of your skin. Making you burn.” he seethed angrily. But for shits and grins, he pressed the gun to my temple. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact anyways. 

“shit! Get down!” he grabbed my arm and yanked me behind a shipping container while bullets ricocheted off the metal with a sharp ping 

He wrapped one arm tight around my throat so I couldn't scream for help as we shuffled towards the exit. I struggled to pull off his arm, tugging at the arm of his leather jacket. 
I saw the back door. We moved towards it while I tried to catch enough of a breath to scream for help. 

The door was locked and he cussed under his breath. Grabbing a crowbar off the floor, he beat at the padlock, kicked the door open and shoved me out. I tripped and sprawled out on the concrete, skinning up my knees, I winced in pain and rolled over. Three cops were closing in on him, and he did something that ultimately surprised me. He turned around with the look of utter rage, he spun around to face the closest cop and slugged him across the face with the crowbar. He frisbeed it at another and ran out the door, slamming it in their faces and grabbing my wrist and took of running. I tripped a lot and he smacked me for it. My lip was bleeding when we finally got to a rough jeep stashed away in the woods. He threw me in and buckled all the off roading harnesses, not for my safety, but for my staying put. I pushed away his hand and he glared at me, raising his fist, then dropping it to the wheel when he decided against it. I sighed in relief quietly. Looking over my shoulder to the forest scene washing by in a blur. Hoping more cops would come or something... I was so close. 

He slung the jeep out onto the highway off the unmarked dirt road. He pushed the speed as far as it would go, accelerating so fast that a tumble in this thing would mean immediate death. 

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling and showing my fear. I was getting farther from Billie with every passing moment, and it was making me sick. 

Billie's Point of View

We were halfway there, and had been driving for an hour. I'd relaxed some, but not enough to be at ease. Was Adeline dead? Alive? I don't know. I don't even know what to think. 

We would be there in another hour. But just the thought of being that close made me panic.