The click of the deadbolt sliding back echoed oddly as Brian let himself in to the slumbering house. Some would say empty, abandoned, modern mausoleum, but Brian never let himself think past "slumbering". On other nights the quiet was disturbing. Tonight it was a welcome friend, his only companion in this private vigil.
There had been plenty of people gathered round the club at the annual candelight vigil, but Brian found no comfort in it. It was the scene of his friend's disappearance. This had been his sanctuary. He and A.J. had bought the house from Samantha when she decided it was time to move on. Brian couldn't move on. To sell the house, the animals that now lived in Georgia with Tyke and Littyleigh... all Nick's things... Brian scrubbed away the misty film that covered his sight at the thought alone.
"How could he come back if there was nowhere for him to come back to?" he asked the empty house.
It had been two years with no word at all. Nick's car had been found empty only a few blocks from the club, but no one even remembered how it got there. The guilt had nearly killed A.J., taking all the blame upon himself for being the one to encourage the night out. The group had broken up, not with any official statement, but no one had expected them to continue. Now they had all drifted apart. Oddly, Brian was now closest to A.J.. Perhaps Brian, whose hope burned eternal, somehow gave comfort to guilt-laden Alex by his simple belief.
Brian toured the house by candlelight, unwilling to disturb the darkness. He stopped in every room, reminiscing, praying that one day new memories would grow in these same rooms.
Near the end of his tour, a few hours before dawn, Brian glanced out the window and caught sight of a figure on the lawn. Someone was moving slowly, almost limping towards the house. He sighed. Tonight of all nights, he didn't want to call the police. This night was too important to be trivialized by some "incident". It was probably just some fan coming to pay their respects, someone a little more persistent than those who had left flowers, notes and candles at the front gates.
Brian walked down the stairs. He wouldn't let whoever it was inside, but maybe they could talk for a while on the steps. It might be nice to have someone to remember Nick with. He was just about to open the front door when he had second thoughts. Not all of the fans who still remembered were entirely sane. Perhaps it would be best to just... Brian's hand found the outside light switch.
As the steps became illuminated, the visitor exclaimed in surprise. Or was that hoarse cry fear? Something in the sound prompted Brian to throw open the door. He saw nothing. The visitor had retreated to the shadows. Brian took a step forward. "It's okay," he said, trying to sound reassuring, though his nerves were suddenly jangling wildly. "I didn't call the cops or anything."
Silence was his only answer. A sense of disappointment overtook Brian as he stood looking out into the dark. He felt like an overeager actor who enters the scene before the cue, spoiling the play. No shadows moved, no leaves rustled. He turned back to the house.
A twig broke. Something large thudded onto the soft earth. Brian turned around.
"Nick," he breathed.