Rain was pouring down like hell all night, and the gloomy downing of the next morning didn't deprive him of tiniest part of his energy. It was raining through and through and, as it seemed, wasn't going to stop at all. Dave was rushing to the studio, jumping over the large puddles, lifted up his jacket collar. There were no passers-by on the street and he kept on running not looking forward. He was already late. It was nearly half past twelve. Dave nearly jabbed an elderly gentleman in a raincoat and with a black umbrella from the pavement on the crossing of two streets, he excused himself while running, not turning back, realizing more utterly that he will be killed for sure. By all three of them. With particular cynicism. The door slammed open and he felt the wave of warmth. The guys lit the fire on the first floor so the dank dampness vanished. It was strangely quiet.
Dave hung up his jacket downstairs, and rushed upstairs, tousling his wet hair. He expected to face the active working process. Alan, shaking his head in earphones, practicing with new sounds on the synthesizer, because they'd made it a rule with Martin once not to repeat the same sound in the songs twice. Martin, strummed on a guitar, humming something, and not paying any attention to what's going on around him, cheerful Fletch with cup of coffee and newspaper, Daniel with cigar, who'd talk and crack horny jokes with a couple of sound producers. The phone, ringing out off the hook all day long in the lobby, and Bruce, who'd debate there with somebody all day long. But today he was greeted by the pin-drop silence. Dave opened the door and came into the semi-dark smoky studio. There were two of them. Fletch was sitting on the floor and gazing at his hands. Alan was sitting in a high chair, rocking his leg, smoking cigarette after cigarette thoughtfully, and sinking them in a coffee-cup.
- Sorry, fellas, I'm late, - said Dave.
Alan grinned and looked aside. Fletch looked at Dave but said nothing. His face was depressed. Little by little Dave started to remember what have happened yesterday. And little by little he started to realize that it wasn't a nightmare.
- Um… and where's Mart? - He wondered.
Fletch moved his lips but they refused to make any sound.
- He hasn't come yet, - Alan said instead of him.
- That's weird, usually he isn't late… - Dave began.
- For four hours and a half… - Alan finished Dave's phrase spitefully.
- Did you call him?
Alan nodded.
- I've even visited him, - suddenly Fletch replied gloomy, - he told me to fuck off but didn't open the door.
Dave sighed loudly and slipped his hands in his pockets. And finally he remembered everything.
- Situation Normal All Fu-u-u-u-cked Up, - he said.
- That was exactly what I've said - Alan nodded again.
- Did you… record something? Anything?
- We are not in the mood.
- Where's Daniel?
- Gone. And Bruce. He told us to call him if whatsoever.
Dave rubbed his forehead.
- Headache. Damn those hangovers… hey guys, fancy a beer?
The guys' faces suddenly came alive. Even Fletch stood up from the floor.
- Let me buy some, I think I should walk a bit.
- Here you are, - Dave extracted money from a pocket, and Alan put his, too, Fletch went downstairs.
After a little recovery they had a chance to work a bit, though Dave was mumbling from time to time, that Maestro will come now and say that all of them are fools and everything sucks and he wasn't writing that this way and all their work will go down the drain. The day draws to a close. But still Maestro didn't say anything, because he never appeared.
- Listen, Al, - Dave settled himself down on a couch , near the wall, stretching his legs in polished shoes. Alan stood up from a chair and set down next to Dave, - listen, pal, what do you think, maybe I said something wrong yesterday?
- Well, what can I say…
- Shit, I don't know what the hell got over me… he should have known everything, huh? - Dave placed his ankle on his knee, uncovering a snow-white sock, - Shit. I am a complete moron, I shouldn't have done that. Friends shouldn't do things like that.
- I have no idea, - Alan shook his shoulders, - Probably. Maybe.
- But you. You've been with him because of her? Because of Anna?
Alan screwed up his eyes.
- I doubt. He told me nothing about her. But who knows…who knows…
And then there was a big silence.
- What have you been doing then there together? - Dave asked quietly at last.
- What do you want to know, Dave?
- I'm curious.
- Curiosity killed the cat - Alan said in a steel voice.
- Alan, you seem to claim yourself my friend. What are the dark mysteries? I should know. I was standing at the door for half an hour…
- Well, then you didn't miss a thing.
- What exactly didn't… I…miss? - Dave asked slowly.
Alan was looking at him frowningly. His lips turned paper-thin. He didn't say anything, but his face grew angry.
- Al? - Dave asked again, - I have to know.
- Are…you…sure that you HAVE TO? Are you fucking sure that you have to know why I was with him? Do I need to give some EXACT REASON. - Alan turned to him his nostrils were swelling from fury, - Probably I should ask you first? Shall I do something with someone? Huh? Mister Freud?
Alan leapt up from the couch and placed his hands on his hips.
- Or I might need your advise how it would be better to improve my life? - he bent above Dave and grabbed him by his collar, - Come on. Do it, Sigmund. Analyze this. Summon in three facts, I know you can. Two grown men plus one locked room. Open your eyes and see what's going on right under your very nose, Mr. Psychoanalytic.
- It can`t be true, - Dave whispered.
Alan shook him up one more time and stepped back. His face grew red. Dave kept on sitting on the couch; his face seemed to be absolutely lost.
- Fletch, say it's not true.
Fletch clasped his knee, sitting on a loud speaker, and kept silence.
- Fletch, - Dave wondered.
Fletch shook his shoulders.
- You knew it? YOU knew? - He jumped up closer to him, but only waved his hand in the end. There were tears in his eyes, - you knew it too?
- WHO DO YOU THINK I AM, HUH? - He shouted, - ALL…THREE… OF YOU…?
He ran downstairs and slammed the door. Only when he reached the end of the block, he remembered that he'd forgotten his jacket hung on the rack. Forget it, he decided. He was going nowhere, the only thing that he didn't want to do was to go home. He passed the pub uncertainly, but then he realized that he'd given all his money to Fletch in the morning. He hurried up, the piercing wind made him huddle up, and mentioned that since he was wearing only a shirt.
He passed there three times already. Only when bumping the same bundle of trash from the local supermarket with his leg for the third time, he realized, that he was walking around in circles. Dave stopped and looked up. The windows on the second floor were dark, the guy stood for a few minutes more, and was going to leave when he noticed that the window of Martin's apartment was half-opened. There were balconies almost near from the left of window, on which the fire escape was going down. The idea, that didn't crossed Fletch's mind came to Dave's in a moment. More then this, he has already experienced such tricks earlier, when he was younger, with his fellows. He entered the porch, easily unlocked the door-lock, reached the loft, and went down the fire escape to the second floor.
- Mart? - he called from the balcony, but didn't get an answer.
Dave stretched his hand forwards, flicking the clamp of the top on the half-lowered heavy shutter, placed his knee on the balcony handrail, whispering to himself that this is only the second floor, all in all. The window yielded and soon he'd dragged the other leg over the window-sill. He'd nearly fallen down from surprise at the last moment.
Martin was at home. He was lying on a bed, his arms clasping his shoulders. There was a steady smell of alcohol in the room, apparently he was rather drunk. His glasses were proudly put upon his nose. Usually he was too shy to wear them. Dave sat on the bed. Martin moved, but didn't say anything.
- Why are you wearing glasses? - Dave tried to put them off, he was afraid Martin could hurt himself, - It's dark here. Anyway, you can't see any fucking thing.
- I see…see…d-d-double, - answered Martin, pushing off Dave's hand and putting the glasses back, - well, but I see double this way…- he said and took them off again - And that way … f-fuck.
He rubbed his eyes and turned his back to Dave.
- Mart, - Dave called him, - I want to talk.
- And I want to die, - Martin answered flatly, - I just want to die easy, here in my own flat. Or ain't I entitled to do it? I am an honest taxpayer of Her Majesty. I worked as a bank clerk for a whole three months.
Dave clambered up on the bed, laying his hand on Martin's shoulder.
- Fuck off - Martin said.
- I am not Fletch. Don't talk to me like that, - Dave was getting angry.
- Do not…touch…me, - there were tears in Martin's voice, - I beg you.
- Sorry…I'm sorry… forgive me, please…Mart, Mart…- he called him once again, - Mart, turn to me. Look at me. I need it. Mart.
Martin unwillingly turned on his back and looked at him. His face was rather gloomy.
- Satisfied?
Dave gritted his teeth and shook his head.
- Tell me, Mart. But just be honest. And please don't ask me why do I need to know, and please don't ask me why do you have to fucking tell me, okay? Just answer the question. Tell me, Mart. Yes or No.
- Yes, - Martin said with drunken chuckles, - No. No. Yes. No. More?
Dave loudly let the air out through his nostrils, desperately trying to keep himself under control.
- Is there something between you and Alan?
- W-what? - Martin asked.
- I'm asking you. Yes, or No.
- Vodka. There - Martin said. The bottle suddenly appeared in the field of his vision, on a shelf, on an unstained wood stand right opposite his bed. - I need to drink; - he rose unexpectedly quickly and headed to the bottle.
- You shouldn't drink any more, - Dave grabbed him by the hand, the other guy didn't yield, and crashed to the floor as a result, making Dave slither off the edge of the bed, clutching at the yellow bedspread, - you shouldn't' have drunk this too, - Dave said, - Martin, - he was looking at Martin, who was sitting near the bed on his heels, top down.
- Do not torture me, - Martin slowly released his hand from Dave's strong grip, - what depends on my answer?
- Everything.
- Nothing.
- Is there something between both of you? - Dave inclined closer to him.
- No, - Martin straightened against him.
- You're lying.
- I told you that nothing depends on it, - Martin went to arise, Dave didn't let him do it again so they both crashed to the floor after brief struggle. Martin hit his back against the floor, and this, by some strange reason sobered him up.
- He loves you.
Dave impended over him, implacable as Destiny. Martin closed his eyes. He tried not to see his eyes, not to see his face.
- No, - he said it only with his lips.
- You love him?
Martin turned away.
- Martin, it's just - yes or no.
- I…
- Yes or no, Martin! - Dave's voice strained on a shout.
Martin jerked his head.
- I…I…don't know.
- Why are you lying all the time?!
- I DON`T KNOW!!! - Martin answered screaming, - get off me, leave me, and go! I didn't call you, I don't want to see you, I don't need you, Dave. - He pushed Dave off. Dave looked point-blank at him. Several minutes passed in total silence, they were just looking at each other.
- You're lying again… - finally answered Dave.
- And what would you do with my truth? - Martin said much more sensible and soberly than Dave expected from him in such a condition, - what, Dave? What will you do if I tell you all the truth? - He laughed although there were tears in his eyes, - will you hang a medal around my neck? You've got your own life, Dave and I've got mine. And I will go through my truth somehow, and you will easily go through it if you won't know it. Why did you come here? To look at me, all fucked up from every side? To make sure that I'm the nonentity, which you usually think I am? And to know what I am thinking about for your complete satisfaction? Have you looked? Is it enough?
Dave watched him in silence. The nooks of his lips were trembling, his eyebrows almost gathered on the bridge of his nose. The last outbreak took all his last strength. Martin fell on the floor again.
- All this isn't wanted for anybody. All. This. It's just stuff, happening in my head. And where did you get that you should know that? Where did you get that I will let you know it?
Suddenly Dave grasped Martin's face slowly passing his thumb over his cheek and chin.
- Why should I be interested in it, indeed? - He said suddenly. His eyes and tone of his voice grew cold. Martin looked at him; he didn't understand what he was getting at. - No, seriously, - Dave said, - who am I for you to tell me everything as it is? Who I am for you to talk with me as an equal? Who I am for you to trust me?! And who I am for you to speak to me, fuck! All I do is ask, all I do is beseech…Mart, give me some time, Mart, please, talk to me, I'm standing in line and I'm always fucking last! Who I am for you to consider with me?
- Oh, poor Dave, let me pity you… - Gore scorns, - a paltry victim….
Gahan grabbed Martin's throat with his hand, heavily exceeding all possible access of oxygen, he piled on him with the whole weight of his body pressing him to the floor. He pulled his shirt up to the throat with another hand.
- I won't ask you to give me what you can't anymore. - croaked Dave through his teeth. His face was slanted because of overflowing senses. - I just take what you can give me.
Martin snatched the hand squeezing his neck, it seemed to him that he was loosing consciousness because of lack of oxygen.
- Da-a-ve, - he was hoarse, - fuck you, stop it.
He contrived to give a slap to his nose, while the hand of the other man was busy with his trousers. Dave grabbed his nose with both his hands. Martin was trying to creep away from him, convulsively catching hold of air and clearing his throat.
- Why? - Dave wrinkled up his nose, several times opened and closed his mouth, making sure that his nose wasn't broken. The fact it was okay reassured him and he made an attempt to attack Martin's body again. - Why? It is permissible for anyone, but not for me? Am I fright? Am I worse than Alan? Believe me, I can fuck as well as he does and even better…ah…all is checked, everything is all right. Why am I worse than fucking Alan?!
He grabbed Martin's hands with his both hands, pressing him down against the floor.
- You won't do it, - said Martin.
- Why? - Dave scorned, - will you kill me?
- No, you will kill me, - Martin said amazingly calmly, looking at the ceiling pensively. - You've already…killed.
Not the words but the oddity of the tone suddenly sobered up Dave.
- No, you can't…- he began, - you won't…
Martin rose on his elbow, snatching Dave's neck with a fast pounding in time with his heartbeat vein. Their faces, bodies and lips were so close, but everything that caused this closeness was just pain. An infernal pain, tearing up their innards. It squeezed lungs, tore heart, and didn't let them move. Martin screwed his eyes.
- I…- as loudly as he could do it whispering, he said, it seemed that his vocal cords had grew numb too, - also didn't think that you can…that you would…Dave, - Martin bit his lip to hold back, he started to shake, - you,…I thought that…that there is something…that I…it doesn't matter. May be we just know each other badly. Knew.
He sat on the floor wearily and covered his eyes with his hand.
- I'm tired, - he said, - And you decide. Either you stay and fuck everything except my brain, `cos I'll go crazy, but it seems to me that I had already…or you fuck off just now and…all in all…I can't mix with you anymore, Dave.
Dave breathed out and crept away, suddenly he came to consciousness. He managed to stand on his feet after a third attempt and crawled to the door on trembling knees. He didn't feel that his face was flooded with tears, he didn't see Fletch, sitting against the door, who grew pale because of his look. He came downstairs stumbling and dragged along the street, not feeling large rain-drops flowing over his cheeks together with his tears.
Fletch bursted in the apartment, mothering Dave, Martin and Alan in whole and each one in particular. Towing Martin into the bathroom, pulling almost an empty bottle of vodka out of his hands, and pulling him under a cold shower right in his clothes. Martin didn't resist, more then this, he tried to fall asleep right there, under the shower. Fletch slapped him on his cheeks twice, for brightness, and after a rather long period of time, and various efforts, he brought Martin to his senses, at least now he was sure that Martin won't die from alcohol intoxication.
Martin woke up in the morning, naked, wrapped up in blanket, in his room. He couldn't understand for a long time why Fletch was in his bed and he was buried in his shoulder, fully dressed, with jacket and shoes on. He couldn't ask him why. He was just very sure that he shouldn't ask.
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