Sheet Music - A Rock 'n' Roll Love Story

“Maybe I didn’t want to die alone.”

Outside the motel two more police cruisers joined the first patrol car.  Like rats, they scurried in the obscurity of the shadows, taking positions along side the building, pistols raised, awaiting the signal to enter the room.

Michael’s patience hung by a thin thread.  With each second that passed, Brian came closer and closer to losing it.  “Give me the gun.  Now,” Michael demanded, his voice louder and more forceful, his hand stretched out to receive it.

With steely resistance, Brian raised the revolver and pressed it to his temple.  “I’m really going to miss you, Mike,” he wanly smiled.  “Hey, do me a favor and watch over Barbara and the kids for me.  She didn’t deserve any of this you know.  Tell her I’m sorry and that I love her.”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself,” Michael said, as he lunged for Brian’s arm.  In their struggle on the bed, the gun went off, piercing quickly through the plastered ceiling and exiting through the roof.  Behind them, the officers kicked in the door.

“Freeze!  Police!”

Michael jumped to his feet and spun around to face them.  Guns drawn, he stared down the barrels of half a dozen lethal weapons.  Quick, he raised his arms offering no resistance.  A nervous rookie took two steps toward the bed.

“Put down the weapon, you bastard,” the young rookie screamed at Brian.

In slow motion, Michael turned around toward Brian.  The revolver was moving back toward his temple.  Seeing the movement of the gun, the rookie cocked his gun, took aim and shouted one last warning.  Michael saw the flash of fire and threw his body into the air.  The bullet tore a searing path of heat through his left arm.  The pain was blinding.  The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.  He fell to the bed in a lifeless heap close to unconsciousness.  Beneath him, Brian lay dead, shot in the chest by the same bullet that ripped through Michael’s arm.

The last noise Michael heard before he lost consciousness were the death gurgles that involuntarily escaped Brian’s throat, as his chest filled with blood that would silence him forever.  In the blink of an eye, it was over, never to be the same again.

Three days later, Michael woke from a heavily-sedated sleep in the hospital.  His eyes rolled then blinked as he tried desperately to focus on something in the room.  Then his eyes fell upon Annie, curled in a lounge chair sleeping beside the bed.  He attempted to sit up and groaned loudly in pain.

Annie’s eyes fluttered open when she heard his cry and bolted upright.  “Michael!  You’re awake,” she squealed and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell did they do to my arm?” he grimaced, straining his neck to see the thick plaster cast encasing his arm from his shoulder to forearm.

“Michael, don’t try and move it!  Let me get your doctor.”

“Not yet.  First tell me what they did to my fucking arm!”

Michael’s eyes were wild with pain and anger at being immobile.

Annie approached the bed and tried to choose the appropriate words to describe the micro nerve surgery the doctors had managed during the hours and hours of surgery they had done to try and save his arm.  She sat beside the bed and took his right hand.

“Michael, do you remember what the doctors did to save my foot?  Well, the doctors here did something similar for your arm except in your case they were working with nerves and bone.”

He shut his eyes and skewed his face.  “It feels like they cut it off!  Maybe they should have.”

“They were nervous of infection and wanted to amputate, Michael, but I refused to sign the paperwork.  I told them who you were and what you did for a living and demanded they go back into surgery and do whatever was necessary to save your arm.”

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead.  Stress marred his otherwise rugged features.  “How long will I be living with this cast?”

“I’m not sure.  It depends on how fast you heal.”  Annie lowered her head and toyed with her fingernails.  “There’s something else about the surgery that I have to tell you, Michael.”  She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat and met his stare.  “The bullet hit you just below your shoulder and did a lot of damage to the bone on the way out of your body.  They weren’t able to repair all of it and they won’t know the full extent of the damage until you heal.”

He gazed at her blankly and blinked.  “What the hell does that mean?”

She fidgeted in her chair and exhaled.  “It means, you might not regain all the feeling in your fingertips.”

He turned his head toward the window and squeezed his eyes tight.  For several minutes he was quiet.  She watched his chest rise and fall and wanted more than anything to know what he was thinking.  Quietly, she began to cry.

“I couldn’t save him,” he said, his voice soft and wounded.

Annie bent over him and pressed her face to his cheek.  “Yes, I know, sweetheart, and I’m very proud you were brave enough to try.  You took a bullet for him and risked your own life for his.”

His gaze returned to the window.  “How’s Barbara?”