Saving Motley Crue

Chapter Five- Midnight Convo with Mick Mars

That night I couldn't sleep. At first my eyes flew open because I was too warm beneath the covers pulled up to my chin, but even when I tossed them aside, my mind wouldn't quiet enough for me to fall back asleep. Was I sick? No . . . Why couldn't I sleep? I never woke up in the middle of the night back home. But then again, I hadn't ever travelled into the past and met Motley Crue. So I guessed my life had taken a strange enough turn as to leave me in a state of insomnia.

With a deep, disappointed sigh, I opened my eyes, and got up to tiptoe out of the bedroom. It was kind of sweet, actually, that the boys had let me have the bedroom when there was so little room in the apartment. But to be honest, I wouldn't have felt comfortable without a door that could lock in between me and them at night.

I quietly made my way over to the kitchen table and switched on the single light bulb hanging over the eating area. Tommy was hanging off the moth-eaten couch ten feet away, mouth open in a silent snore. He reminded me immensely of my college-age brother back home, which reinforced the realization that he was just a kid. A kid who was in way over his head.

Nikki was somewhere I couldn't see in the immediate area, and I knew that Vince was spending the night in one of his various "girlfriends" apartments. I found out where Mick was when a moment later he sat down carefully in the chair across from me. Straightening in surprise, I gave a small smile- I had no idea what Mick thought of me so far because he was always quiet.

"Can't sleep?" He gazed at me through heavy-lidded eyes that were undercut by dark, weary circles. Mick was only 29 as of this year, but the slow creeping of a disease of the spine and the knowledge that it would inevitably defeat him cut deep lines of age in his face.

"No. I suppose you can't sleep either?"

"No. I'm sure you can guess as to why." He gave me a humorless smile, the corner of his lips twisting in pain. I just nodded and said, "You deal with it well. Even in the future when you're . . . actually old, you still play with the band." I wouldn't usually have disclosed such specific information about the future, but I somehow felt this was necessary to tell him. I could tell he was discouraged by his back. By the rest of the band always getting the limelight because of their energy and youthful looks.

"Thanks. I'm glad to hear it." He seemed hesitant to say more, studying me as if to assess whether I was trustworthy or not. Finally his face relaxed, and he asked with a gravelly voice, "So, do we live up to your expectations?"

"Hmm . . . that's a tough question." I had such mixed emotions, and wondered which expectation to mention- the one where they would all be mind-controlled puppets, or that they're eccentric musicians. "In some ways more than I would have hoped. . . Mick can I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask. But wait, I need a cig for this." Reaching into his jacket with a grimace, Mick drew out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with a hand that was slightly trembling. "Want one?" He asked as he was pulling one out for himself, seeming as if he had just remembered that he should ask me. "No thank you."

"Alright, what's your question, kid?"

"Well . . . how come you're letting them get signed? I mean, how come you're not protecting them more?" At the expression on his face, I hastily added, "It's not that I don't think you care about them, and I don't mean you should physically protect them, because I know they can fend for themselves in that way. I mean . . . " My voice lowered to a whisper, and I instinctively glanced around to see if there were any listening devices or hidden cameras- as if I would actually be able to see them if they were there. Leaning forward in my seat, I whispered, "From the industry . . . you know, the 'deal they've got to make with the devil'. Why are you letting them be enslaved?" An emotion I couldn't quite place stiffened the muscles of his face, and his hand holding the cigarette stayed frozen halfway to his mouth, the smoke trailing feebly from the tip of the cigarette. "What do you know?" His lips hardly moved so that for a second I didn't think the words came from him.

"Why?" My heart leaped into my throat- had I read Mick wrong? Was he a handler? My eyes flit to the kitchen counter, searching for a knife or other weapon if need be.

"Does everyone know in the future?"

I shook my head slightly, bitterness pulling down the corners of my mouth. "Not everyone believes it. So why? Are you a part of . . . them? Or are you just like Nikki and Tommy? A slave with strings of gold?" I would have felt foolish reciting his own song lyrics back to him, but it was true, wasn't it? When I gazed searchingly into his dark eyes as if I could probe the answer from him that way, I found something that strangely resembled fear. That was the last thing I had expected from Mick, but then again I don't know if I should have expected anything- I hardly knew him.

"All I can say is that I don't have a choice and neither do they."

"You always have a choice." I retorted instinctively, and any guilt that flashed through me was more than put to rest when I thought of the brutal victimization that Nikki,Tommy, and Vince had been through and were yet to go through.

"Not in my world. Not unless you want to end up dead." Mick's face contorted, and I wasn't sure if it was due to physical pain or the course of the conversation. A coldness seeped into my blood and settled in my bones . . . this wasn't a game here. This was about life and death.

Knowing that the gesture could very well be rejected, I tentatively reached out and placed my hand over Mick's that was on the table. I could feel him flinch, but he didn't withdraw his hand. "I'm sorry. I can't even imagine how hard this is for you . . . but you have to fight for them. You have to fight for yourself. Don't get scared- get angry. These people are trying to steal your lives. Don't let them."