Sick Thoughts

Epilogue

Sarah watched the television in horror.

"Police are still investigating the murder-suicide that occurred in this house on East 12th Street. Two days ago, the body of 48-year old Billie Joe Armstrong was found in his living room by local police after some friends of Mr. Armstrong sent them to his house after not hearing from him for a week.  His throat was slashed and he was surrounded by alcoholic beverages and remains of drugs."

Brendon had just entered the kitchen.

"The police found the murderer to be his niece, 19-year old Callie Armstrong," He did a double-take.   "who was discovered in the bathtub on the second floor with a self-inflicted gash on her throat.   It was confirmed that the knife she used to end her life was the same one that ended her Uncle's."

"Can you believe this," his wife said, not looking at Brendon.   "She was so young."

"Aside from her uncle, Callie had no other family.  Her parents died when she was a young girl. Callie didn't have any close friends but interviews from people who knew her on a surface level declared, she was a quiet individual who, and I quote, 'Looked depressed'."

"Her fucking Uncle didn't pay enough attention to his niece to know she was atypical?  Probably too busy finding pleasure for himself," she said in aggravation.

"Callie didn't leave a note or final message of any sort.   As a result, police proclaim that they don't have much to go on.  Therefore, the case will be closed."

"Good," Sarah said.

"Good?"   Called her husband.   "How is that good? She's dead."

"I mean good as in, the Uncle got what he deserved."   She looked back at Brendon and narrowed her brows.  "Are you okay?   You seem a little... off."

Brendon nodded.  "I'm fine," and went to make some coffee.

Sarah looked back at the television.   "That's not far from here," then back at her husband.  "Did you know her?"

"Callie... "Nice name.  Brendon Urie... "

"I'd seen her in passing.  I remember she was at the park one time," he said with his back to Sarah.

"So you didn't... know her."

"Sorry, it's just weird how you see someone alive and... then they're dead."

Sarah rose from the couch and went to hug Brendon from behind.  "You can't see mental illness," she told him.  "You didn't know what she was going through.   Hey, she didn't even say goodbye to anyone."

"Goodbye, Brendon... Thanks for everything."

"Still could've helped her, though," Brendon mumbled.

"You didn't know her.  Even if you did, there's nothing you could have done because... you're not a therapist.  People with depression can put on a fake smile and just pass you by."

Brendon couldn't remember a time where Callie smiled.  Scoff and smirk, yes.  But not a true, genuine smile.

"I love you," Sarah said.

"Even if you guys divorce one day, which I highly recommend you don't, I'm not who you want to be with.   You need someone who loves you, genuinely loves you."

Brendon turned and embraced his wife, looking at the television as it finished the story, sighing.