The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty - Brendon Urie

VIII. Shut Out

A normal person would have gone home after a traumatic experience like my own, but my house is the last place I want to be. So instead I did what my instincts told me to do, and I went to Brendon's dwelling instead.

His house had a very pleasing vintage aesthetic. It was just the right amount of classy, but still looked livable. Old ties were scattered throughout the house, and used guitar picks could be found in every nook and cranny. Yet CD's were still organized in alphabetical order on his shelves, and magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table.

The wooden floor creaked as I heard his footsteps in the kitchen. The illumination from the dim streetlight hardly shone through the blinds that covered the faultless pane of Brendon's front room window. The lamp in the corner of the room flickered from old age as his record player spun an old Beatles record.

Brendon lit up the dark atmosphere by simply walking into the room and flashing a smile. Somehow I felt my mood lift as he sat on the coffee table that lay in front of the couch I was resting on.

This reminded me of the time when we first met. We both sat with warm beverages in our hands with tension lingering in the atmosphere between us. But this time it wasn't awkward. In fact, I'd never been as comfortable around a person as I am with him.

"So what happened?" he asked after he took a sip of his hot chocolate. I sat for a few seconds, trying to recall everything that had happened within the past couple of hours.

"Well," I finally said. "After I found Moe," I sat for a few seconds, unable to say the word I dreaded so intensely. Brendon nodded, signaling that I didn't have to continue my sentence "After that I called the police, and they came and took care of everything. They started asking me questions that I didn't know the answer to, and they eventually just asked me to leave and come back to the station in a few days." Brendon sighed and set his hand on my knee in an attempt to comfort me.

"Kristine I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have to go through something like that. No one should have to go through that." I nodded and felt tears start to form in my eyes. "Kris," he said as he sat next to me on the couch and set a comforting arm around me. "Please don't cry." I did the exact opposite of what he asked me to do, and continued to sob for a solid five minutes before I looked up at him and realized he was about to cry too.

As I sat in his arms I started to feel that I was missing something, and my eyes suddenly widened as I realized that I forgot one of the biggest details from today. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note that was left behind.

"Here," I said as I sat up and handed the piece of paper. "This note was left next to her." I watched as his eyes skimmed the paper, and observed as his expression changed from intrigued to horrified.

"Not again," he muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean 'not again'?" I asked worriedly. He seemed to be shivering from fright as he looked over at me suddenly, realizing he had just said what he said out loud.

"It's nothing," he said as he ran a hand nervously through his hair. He stood up from the couch and started to pace the hardwood floor anxiously. "I think you should leave," he finally said. I sat still, trying to find the courage to say something but instead was only frozen in shock. "Please," he said harshly as he threw the note onto his coffee table. "Leave." I rose from my seat and slowly made my way over to his front door, where I stood on the step and looked up at him in confusion.

"Brendon," I managed to say. "What do you know?" he set his hand on the doorknob and looked down as he tried not to show any emotion.

"Nothing," he finally said. "Please do what the note says and never come here again."