Each pound on the apartment door brought a new wave of stinging headache.
"Would'ja just hold on a minute?!", I rubbed my face and then closed my eyes again.
Every time I opened them the world started spinning anew. Every time I closed them I saw their faces. It was an inescapable torture; even the booze failed to rid me of it. Booze? When did I start calling it booze? God, I've really hit rock bottom.
I was jarred awake again by several more earsplitting knocks on the door.
"Hey! Wake up!"
"Go away Chris."
He came by a lot lately. Probably felt that he had to check up on me, or maybe he was just annoyed at how stupid I'd been acting. I don't blame him, I had been acting stupid. Truth is, I didn't care. Everything I'd had was swept out from under me, and there was nothing left for me save what sat in the bottom of the bottle that lay on my chest.
"Get up, Will!"
I closed my eyes again and there they were. Smiling as they got in the car to go home; smiling as they road to death. I'd been too busy investigating OCS industries that I never realized how deep I'd gotten myself. My one mistake; a mistake I don't make often. They'd been waiting at home for them, and me if I'd been with them. I had OCS on its knees. Crippling evidence that would have ruined the company. It would have led to the arrest of the CEO, Patrick Bernauw.
"If you don't get up . . . ", I snapped awake at his voice.
"I was a damn good reporter!"
"I had those bastards. Was gonna nail them to their own cross."
"Get up, Will. I'll be waiting in the car."
"What do I have to get up for?! They didn't do anything and they had to die. Just to shut me up. Why didn't they just kill me?"
I listened to the glass shatter as I threw the bottle to the floor and sat up.
I was going to miss them. Forever.