Aubrey (Revolving With Axis)

145: Rafe

145: Rafe

I called my mom and told her we were okay. I spoke to my dad. I called President Call and told him we were okay. I called Kell Stevak and asked him what I should do.

"Young man, you are doing it." Kell said gravely. "You are taking care of things. Let your manager, or whatever she is, handle the insurance claims and the transportation issues, let her handle the cancellations if there are any. And you take care of those who belong to you. And know this, Rafe, you are not alone. That's the biggest comfort I can give you. You are not alone."

I wasn't exactly looking for those kinds of assurances. But Kell had been one who took charge, a manager type talent. I knew I looked up to him. And he said the right things.

I called Aubrey back. She was sobbing. "Baby what is it? I'm coming there soon." I started walking out to the lobby again right then as if to prove it.

"Carlos just died." She managed and then sobbed hysterically. I thought about the deaths she'd seen, the people she'd tried to save, and the stoic and professional way she'd handled it all. I needed to be with her. I needed her now.

"I'm on my way, baby."

"You have to go to the venue. Jeff and I are heading there in a taxi. Oh, Rafe, your guitar got burnt up!"

"Nah, my guitar is in my room, baby." I assured her as I went to the desk and asked the manager of the hotel for a van to take me and some of the others to the venue. A van had already been arranged.

We had a hard time getting inside the venue parking area. The place was already crowded, and people were everywhere. For some reason, I kept blinking back tears, for some reason, my heart was beating too fast, and I kept seeing popping fireworks. I felt like this might be a bad idea.

Until the other cab pulled up and Jeff got out with crutches. Ben and I were to him in a flash, hugging him, holding him and saying crazy things I can't even remember.

And then Aubrey was there.

She wasn't changed. She wore her shorts, her t-shirt with the blood stains on it, her knees were scraped, her arms were covered in white cement dust and her face was pale, her hair straggling around her shoulders. She saw me... and crumpled.

I am not sure how I made it to her. I recall stumbling, and reaching out, and finally clasping her slim form to my chest, my hand buried in the back of her hair as I sought solace in her shivering figure.

"Aubrey, I can't believe this happened to us. I can't believe it. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" It was a stupid thing to say, but I was rambling. I still felt shaky and sick inside. I kept having these images in my head of the gun in my hand.

She choked and sniffed, hands running over my back and arms frantically. "Rafe."

I stroked her hair, kept her close to me. Someone suggested we go inside, before we were mobbed. The reference to being mobbed was poignant. We made it up the stairs and into the cooler interior of the dressing rooms set aside for us. The main sitting room was covered with flowers, food and drinks.

Aubrey collapsed on the couch and curled on her side, burying her face in the cushion, she grabbed a loose pillow and put it over her head, clamping it down over her ears.

I sat beside her, close, but not into her. I gently rested my hand on her side and every now and then clutched her shirt. My body felt like an empty fallen log that termites were systematically pillaging. My breath sounded like the air brakes on a semi-truck going down a long hot hill.