A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(47)

Melody burst into tears.

**

Dylan drifted in and out of consciousness. He never awakened long enough  to speak, but he was always aware of the goings-on around him. He knew  when he was alone and when he wasn't. The smells and sounds that reached  him told him that he was in a hospital, but he couldn't remember what  had happened, or why he was unconscious. His ragtag family seemed to be  taking turns with him in shifts, relieving each other every hour or so.  But though people came and went, he always felt Melody there-a constant  presence to guard against his demons in the darkness.

Grace was there a lot, too. She cried. She begged him not to leave her.  She made crazy promises about coming on tour with the band and  reconnecting with him and making up for lost time, if he would just open  his eyes.

When Jesper visited, he talked about the past, recounting stories Dylan  hadn't heard in years, tales of times both good and bad. He promised  Dylan that he was going to make sure things were different from now on,  and that, while change might be hard, it would be good for all of them.

Tank told jokes when he was there, all the filthiest, funniest  wisecracks he could think of. He informed Dylan that he refused to stop,  and that Melody might get offended enough to walk out if he kept going,  so if Dylan didn't want that to happen, he should wake the fuck up  already.

Rip came only after everyone else was gone. He read Tweets and letters  from fans, telling Dylan that a whole world of people needed him to get  better-as if the people close to him weren't enough incentive to do so.  Dylan could hear anger and resentment in Rip's voice, and he tried to  open his eyes, to ask what was going on...but it was too late.

He drifted away again.

**

"Haven't you slept long enough?" Snake asked.

Dylan knew he was dreaming, though he couldn't say how he knew; this  felt real, like it was just another night at home. He and Snake were in  Tank's loft, sharing a bottle of bourbon.

"For some reason, I don't want to wake up yet," Dylan admitted.

"You wanna see that chick of yours, don't you?" Snake waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I do, it's just...I know that when I wake up, nothing's ever going to be the same again."

"Is anything ever really the same?" Snake wondered. "Shit's different  every morning you open your sorry eyes. That's the trick of life, man.  Making us think we've ever had a lick of control."

"But there's more to it this time," Dylan insisted. "It's different. I'm different."

Snake nodded sadly. "Yeah. Maybe you are."

"How will I keep us together?" Dylan wondered. "All of us, the guys, me and Mel? What do I do now?"

"Find a good bridge," Snake suggested. "You've already got a chorus of  voices and your own personal Melody. Might be hard, but you'll get  it-you'll see. I just wish I could be there to help you."

"What?" Dylan asked.

"Time to wake up, brother," Snake whispered, with a sad gleam in his eyes.         

     



 

And Dylan finally woke up.

The first thing he saw was Melody's anxious face. She was smiling down at him through her tears. "It's about time," she said.

The next person he saw was Jesper, who had a slow, relieved smile  spreading across his face. "You had us real worried for a moment,  there," he said.

"How are you feeling?" Melody asked.

"Terrible," he rasped. His voice sounded dry from disuse.

"What do you remember?" Melody asked. Dylan felt her hand in his. Though  his limbs felt numb and heavy, he managed to squeeze her fingers to  reassure them both.

"I remember … running away," Dylan said. Shame nearly consumed him. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Mel."

"None of that," she chided, lifting his hand and pressing a kiss to his  knuckles. "Don't worry about anything. You just concentrate on getting  better."

"Do you remember coming back to Los Angeles and … ?" Jesper trailed off.

A weight settled upon Dylan's chest, a strange surety left over from the  dream he'd just had. "Snake's dead, isn't he?" he asked, as the  memories of his last moments began trickling back to him. The drinking,  the drugs, the car ride...

A tear rolled down Jesper's cheek and he nodded jerkily. "I was supposed  to keep us together," he murmured. "What a miserable failure I am."

Dylan slowly reached out towards Jesper with a shaking hand, and placed  it on his best friend's arm. He summoned his strength, struggling to  verbalize the words in his head-he was certain that he'd been given some  form of pain medication which had made him groggy and incoherent.  "I'm...I'm the one who failed him. ‘Sides, you're only the de facto band  leader, remember? I'm too much of a fuck-up to get it right." They both  laughed a little, watery chuckles that did nothing to lift their  spirits. An ache was growing in Dylan's chest, threatening to consume  him. "How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Three days," Melody said quietly.

"Jesus," Dylan muttered. How bad had the crash been? He started trying to take stock of his numerous injuries.

After a long and heavy pause, Jesper cleared his throat. "I should go  get your sister," he said. "She'll kill me if she finds out I didn't  tell her the second you woke up."

As soon as he left, Dylan looked back at Melody. "Level with me, Mel. How bad is it?"

She scrutinized him, and he could tell she was choosing her words  deliberately. "Do you remember the accident? Why you two went out  driving?"

Dylan searched his memory, forcing himself to recall things he would rather forget.

"We were out of booze," he said slowly, the ache in his chest turning  into a heavy weight in his gut. "Christ, we finished everything he'd  stashed away, then we went out because we wanted to get more. Snake was  driving, I remember that. How come...?" He couldn't finish the sentence:  How come I lived, but he had to die?

Melody seemed to sense what he had been thinking. "The car went over an  embankment," she explained. "You were thrown free on the first impact.  You had a serious concussion and some internal bleeding; that was what  took the longest in surgery. Every time they thought you were out of the  woods, something else sprang a leak."

"The first impact," Dylan repeated woodenly. Out of everything she'd said, that was all he could focus on.

"The car flipped several times on the way down," Melody continued. "They think Snake was already dead before … "

"Before...?" Dylan prompted.

"The explosion," she finished.

"I hate myself even more now."

"It was a bad decision on both of your parts. But hating yourself won't help you," Melody said.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?" Dylan cried. He felt tears  beginning to leak down his cheeks. "I practically poured gasoline all  over the place before handing a lit match to an addict. I killed my  brother."

"Snake had his own matches," Melody argued. "You were both stupid and  reckless, but it was a lapse of judgment on both your parts, you didn't  kill him." Her hand stroked the side of his head gently, as if she was  afraid to break him if she pressed too hard.

"It's not fair," he muttered. "He wouldn't have even been drinking if I hadn't-"

"Wouldn't he?" Melody wondered. "You admitted there was a fair amount of  alcohol at the house. Do you really believe that your presence alone  shoved Snake off the wagon?"         

     



 

Dylan thought about it. No, he hadn't been the only reason Snake had  been drunk off his ass, doing lines of cocaine and popping pills as if  they were candy...but the fact that he'd been a reason was something  that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"I still shouldn't have been a willing participant," he insisted. "I  even knew it was a bad idea; I didn't want us to drive, I told him it  was a bad idea, but I got in the car anyway. I don't know why. I don't  know why I did that." Then he sat up, realizing something rather  significant.

"What's the matter?" Melody asked, noticing his change in demeanor. She  was still stroking the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

"I remember why I went with him," he said. "I was hoping … " He shook his  head. "For some reason, I thought that if I was there, I could keep  something bad from happening. And for a while it almost worked. I was  talking to him, keeping him alert, you know? Then one of our songs came  on the radio. He was honking the horn and swerving because one of our  fucking songs was on the radio and he just … misjudged the curve, I think.  Can you believe how stupid that is?" Dylan barked out an angry laugh.

"Accidents happen for stupid reasons every day," Melody conceded. "I'm  so sorry, baby," she whispered. She'd been crying off and on since he  had opened his eyes, but now she was really starting to sob.