Point of View: Kevin
When my phone rang and it was Brian's name on the caller ID, I knew before I answered it what he was going to ask of me. I'd been waiting for the call since the day I found out Nick was being charged for the murder of Krystal Armalleto.
Kristen and I had been laying outback of our Kentucky house in the summer heat while Mason played in a turtle-shaped sandbox in wet swim trunks and little tiny croc-shoes. Kristen was nearly asleep, the sun baking her bikini-clad body, and I was honestly dozing off, too, but I would've denied it, since I was reading an informational packet about an environmentalist group that was asking me to sponsor them. It was one of those days that the bugs hum and you could imagine frying an egg on the sidewalk.
It had been somewhat silent for the past half an hour or so, aside from the flipping of the packet pages in my hand and Mason's occasional, "Look what I made, daddy!" So I was surprised to hear Journey echoing out of the open back doors of the house as my cellphone rang.
Don't stop believing...
Nick was calling? I was surprised because Nick hadn't called me in quite awhile. Since before I left the group, actually. We'd spoken, sure, but it had always been me that had called. It'd always been for a purpose that we spoke. It was usually because Brian called and begged me to call Nick because Nick was out of hand again, because he couldn't get control to stop Nick from doing coke on the bus or partying too hard or something. And those conversations had always ended negatively.
I'd only spoken to Nick once since his accident - and that was that day at Oak Groves, when the truth about my leaving the band had come out.
"Honey?" Kristen groaned. "I'm running inside, phone." I warned her for Mason's sake, so she had her eyes open for him in case he decided to run for the pool for some reason. She nodded and struggled to sit up as I went inside, kicking dirt off my feet at the door.
My cell was on the kitchen counter, plugged into the wall. I picked it up, probably just before he was about to hang up. "Hello Nick," I greeted him.
Silence.
"Nick?" I asked.
His voice was meek. "Kevin? I'm in trouble."
Twice I'd heard this line before. Once, he'd been arrested in Florida for a bar fight and then clocking a plain-clothed officer in the mouth. The second time was a DUI in Los Angeles, which he claimed was caused by drinking beer following his medication. Right.
"Fuck Nick, did you drive drunk again?" I asked, annoyed.
Nick hesitated. "Sorta."
"Jesus H. Christ," I rubbed my face. "Nick! You just finished rehab and --"
"Kevin, I'm being charged with murder."
I paused. The words sounded strangely heavy coming out of his mouth. "What?" I asked.
"Murder, Kevin," Nick said, "I'm being charged for murdering Krystal."
"...Nick..."
"She killed herself, Kev, I didn't do it."
I thought back on all the drama the two had encountered. Brian had told about Krystal being pregnant when she died, about her cheating on Nick with Desi, about Nick's response... And honestly, I'm ashamed to say this but... I doubted Nick's words.
I knew what Nick was capable of.
I shouldn't word it like that, actually. I didn't think Nick was capable of cold blooded murder. Like I didn't think he'd purposely killed her or planned to kill her or wanted to kill her in any way other than superficially speaking, but I also knew - from experience with him - that he had a short temper and quick, off-the-cuff reactions. Nick had always been a do-first-think-later kind of guy.
Especially when he was high and/or drunk.
"Kev, you gotta help me," Nick pleaded. "You gotta help me. I didn't do this."
"There's no way I can help, Nick..." I answered.
"No there has to be, please," he sounded like a little boy, begging for a parent to resurrect a dead hamster. "Please, Kevin, you always make it okay again." He started to cry. Just like the kid with the dead hamster, I guess he realized the futility of what he was asking me to do.
"I'm sorry, Nick."
Brian had called me up peeved off a couple days after the conversation with Nick, and that'd been the last I'd heard from any of the fellas during the whole ordeal. Everything I knew I knew from what the PR was releasing, which - now that I know the whole story that had happened "behind the scenes" - I realize is not a lot.
For instance, I knew Nick had been put under house arrest, that his house had burned down and he'd been put into LA county corrections center. I heard through word of mouth alone that he'd been shot and people claimed a news report had been on TV about it, but I never saw that. Most of the reports were vague and only said that he'd been hospitalized. After that, he'd been transferred, and nothing more had been said about his case, other than it was coming up this week, since.
"Hallo," Brian greeted me when I answered the phone.
"Hey," I answered reluctantly.
"Kevin, we need your help." And that's how I ended up on a plane to Los Angeles.
