Category Linkin Park
Upside-Down
Prologue
Yo.
Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive.
You might be wondering why I'm writing this when I still have When In New York to complete, but that story is on hiatus. And it will be until somebody takes interest in it, because there's no point in writing something nobody's gonna read.
And I've got this story all set out in my head, and so far it's the best job I've ever done.
_______
Mike took a sip of coffee from one of the cheap plastic mugs the bank was considerate enough to provide, and glanced at the table next to his. His buddy was sitting there, staring at a page that looked suspiciously like a memo. A look of intense irritation had found its way to his pale face. Mike took another sip of the cold, overly-sweet coffee, and began the mental countdown.
5 …
He got up, and glared down at the memo as if it had just insulted his mother.
4 …
He flourished it violently.
3 …
He started walking towards Mike.
2 …
He ignored the cleaner screaming “Wet floor, you imbecile!” and slipped as a consequence.
1 …
He slammed it down on Mike’s desk, who worked hard to conceal his grin. “Read,” he ordered him, his voice trembling dramatically.
Mike obeyed. It was the same as ever. The manager was warning him not to wear skinny jeans to office again, or she’d cut his pay. He found it somewhat funny that Chester wore skinny jeans to office every day, in spite of the five memos he’d received before this one. To Chester, however, it was clearly a tragedy.
“Why, oh why?” he cried out, bending forwards towards Mike. “What have I ever done to her? Why does she victimize me, and only me?”
“Shut up!” Mike hissed. He’d noticed the object of Chester’s fury come up behind him.
“You’d think she had other stuff to worry about!” Chester went on, completely ignoring him. “But no—”
As a last-ditch attempt Mike got up and clamped his hand over Chester’s mouth. Chester looked at him in mutiny, and Mike knew that if his hand wasn’t covering half Chester’s face, he’d be pouting.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said, smiling politely as Mrs. Perry, an obese creature with dyed peroxide blond hair walked past, looking at them with weighty suspicion emanating from every line of her wrinkled, heavily made-up face. Chester gave her a little wave of his fingers.
She stopped, and Mike groaned inwardly. “Shinoda,” she said, “What are you doing?”
He took his hand off of Chester, just in time to see him pout. He gave him an apologetic smile, but Chester turned away, clearly mad at him. Oh man. Mike hated it when Chester was mad at him.
“Shinoda.”
He tore his gaze away from Chester. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, his voice sugary.
“What are you doing?”
“Err …” He had no idea what to say.
“Playing a game,” Chester spoke up.
“I see,” she said, obviously unconvinced. “Well, off to work, the two of you, and mind you don’t wear those jeans again, Bennington.”
Chester nodded almost imperceptibly. She smiled her wide, toothy, self-satisfied smile and walked back to her office.
“That old hag,” muttered Chester, before snatching up his memo and walking back to his desk.
Mike followed him. “Are you mad at me?”
He didn’t reply. Instead he slowly started clearing his desk and packing his stuff. Then he straightened and turned to face Mike. He smiled. “Of course not,” he said.
Mike smiled back. “Good,” he said, and glanced at his watch. “C’mon dude, it’s almost 5. Let’s go home.”
“First we gotta go to the doctor, get my results back,” Chester reminded him.
“Oh yeah,” Mike replied, returning to his desk.
Chester had been complaining of headaches and nausea for quite a few weeks now, and he had Mike very worried. Mike had finally taken him to a doctor a couple days back. Chester had come reluctantly – he hated hospitals even more than he hated broccoli. The doctor had taken a blood test, run a few scans and finally, an unnerving MRI. He’d told them to get back to him today.
They decided to have something to eat first (they were both starving), and stopped by at a small café. Mike tried to joke around and keep the atmosphere light, but Chester remained uncharacteristically serious. Eventually he put down his milkshake and said, “Hey, Mike.”
“Yeah?” Mike responded at once.
“If someday I wasn’t here, what would you do?”
The question took Mike completely by surprise. He’d never tried to contemplate a life without Chester – it just didn’t click. He couldn’t imagine a day when it wasn’t Chester who woke him up each morning. He was his best friend, his brother, and to him, a life without him wasn’t worth living at all. “I’d die,” he replied quietly.
Chester just looked at him. He didn’t say a word, but his face spoke volumes. Mike could tell how scared he was of getting his tests back, and the possibility of anything being seriously wrong with him. Mike was anxious too, but he had to be strong. For Chester.
He took his hand. “You’re going to be OK,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
Chester gave him a small, reassured smile, and Mike smiled back. “You ready to go, Chaz?”
He nodded. “I guess so.”
Mike smiled at him again, and gave the nearest waiter a $10 note. They both got up, and got back into their little 1956 Camaro. Chester was nervous, all right – Mike noticed his unsteady hand on his knee as he fastened his seatbelt with his other hand. He smiled encouragingly at him and started driving.
It was until 20 minutes later, when Mike parked the car and they got out, did Chester really start showing his nervousness. “Mike,” he whispered. “What if there’s something wrong with me?”
Mike put an arm around him. “You’re going to be fine,” he told him again, soothingly.
He nodded. “I hope so.”
Mike gave his shoulders a little squeeze. By then they’d entered the clinic. The nurse greeted them with a nod and seated them in the waiting room, telling them they could see the doctor in a moment. Chester was taking deep, relaxing breaths – his calming mechanism. In an attempt to distract him, Mike thumped one of the ancient Reader’s Digests into his lap.
He’d just opened it when the nurse returned and told them they could go in. They stood up; Chester inhaled deeply again. Mike started praying to – no, begging – God that please let Chester be OK.
They took their seats in front of Dr. Hudson’s littered desk. He looked at them questioningly. “Yes?”
Since Chester was in no state to speak, Mike did. “Um – we came to you a couple of days ago. Chaz was complaining of headaches –”
“Oh,” said he, comprehension dawning on his middle-aged face. “Yes, I have the reports somewhere here.”
He began searching in his drawer. Meanwhile, Mike had just noticed Chester’s hand slowly and discreetly making its way to his mouth. He grasped it tightly in both of his and squeezed his fingers. “Relax. No chewing fingernails,” he whispered, and once again, Chester nodded.
Dr. Hudson had finally found the reports he’d been looking for. “Bennington, Chester Charles?” he queried, and they nodded. He drew the report out of its large manila envelope, and studied it for a moment. “It’s clear,” he informed them, and Mike immediately breathed a prayer of thanks up to God. Besides him, Chester sighed in relief, visibly relaxing.
“However,” said Dr. Hudson, cutting them short. “I think he has migraines.”
Mike stopped smiling. “That’s not bad, is it?” he asked, a bit fearfully.
He shook his head. “No. He just has to take good care of himself. You know, eat well and sleep well. Oh, and not stress out too much.” He turned to Chester. “If you do that, they shouldn’t bother you too much. If they do, take these pills.” He scribbled some long name down on a prescription sheet and handed it to Chester.
Mike stood up and shook his hand, and Chester followed suit. “Thank you,” they said in unison, Chester holding his report and prescription in his free hand. The doctor smiled at them in welcome as they walked out.
Out in the parking lot, Chester let go of Mike’s hand and jumped, letting out a whoop. Mike smiled as he nearly crashed into a gothic teenager making her way into the clinic. “Watch it, weirdo,” she muttered.
“Sorry!” Chester sang, before jumping up on Mike and throwing his arms around his neck. Mike staggered as Chester locked his legs around his waist. It wasn’t that he was heavy – he wasn’t at all – he was just too … sudden. “Chaz,” Mike groaned, as he took a step backwards to ensure they didn’t fall. “Dude.”
Chester giggled. “Ice cream,” he said, looking at Mike with big eyes and those notorious pouty lips. Mike sighed – Chester knew he couldn’t resist that endearing expression, and he exploited this fact whenever he could.
“You’re such a baby,” Mike told him as he sat him down on the car’s trunk.
“Please?” he said, mustering all his available cuteness as Mike unlocked the car doors.
“OK,” said Mike, grinning suddenly as he grabbed Chester off the trunk and stuffed him in his seat. “Baskin Robbins? We’ll get your pills on the way,” he said, as he got in at his side and started the engine.
“Yeah,” said Chester excitedly. Mike couldn’t help but smile at him and pat his head. God, he really was so adorable, with that baby face, the dark brown wavy hair and that tiny body. In an attempt to look more mature, he’d gotten his ears and lip pierced, and a few tattoos here and there as well. He rarely wore his labret, though – as he delicately put it, he didn’t like it so much after all.
They ran into two of Mike’s high school friends at Baskin Robbins. Ryan Maginn and Takbir Bashir [1], a.k.a. Ryu and Tak. They were the terrors of the neighborhood, walking around in oversize hoodies, rapping self-made rhymes at random passers-by and playing vigilante whenever they saw some crime taking place. It was lucky for Mike he’d gotten in their good books at school – they weren’t very nice to “haters”.
“Yo,” said Ryu, high-fiving Mike and clapping Chester on the back. “What up, dudes?”
“Nothing much, you tell me.” Mike threw the typical response back at him.
“I made a new rhyme,” Tak told them importantly, as if he’d just won a Grammy.
“Yeah? Hit me,” said Chester, interested.
Before Tak could start, though, Ryu said, “So what’s the occasion?”
Mike blinked. “Occasion?”
Ryu nodded. “Yeah. You guys are rarely in here.”
“Oh,” said Mike. “Well, we’re celebrating ‘cause Chester’s reports are clear.” They were the only two people they’d told.
“Congrats, man,” said Tak brightly, looking genuinely pleased. He would’ve said something more, but Ryu grabbed his arm.
“Guy stealing old lady’s purse,” he yelled, and they both ran to save the day.
Mike rolled his eyes. “You’d think they have something better to do, at age 24.”
“They’re happy,” Chester pointed out. “Besides, they earn a lot, working at the garage.”
“They should make a movie, you know,” Mike suggested, as they observed Ryu and Tak through the shop windows, beating up the unfortunate purse-thief. “Super-Ryu and Super-Tak. Saviors of the World.”
Chester laughed. “Yeah. Me and you, we’d direct it.”
“We’d be rich,” Mike said dreamily.
“And famous,” Chester added, and they both laughed.
_______
It was almost 10 PM when they finally got home. After ice-cream they’d gone to the park and played basketball with some teenagers, and then gone to see a movie. Mike had wanted to take a walk on the beach after that, but Chester had fallen asleep halfway through the movie. It had been extremely awkward, carrying him out of the cinema and walking through the BIIIG parking lot like that, and Mike was literally blushing from the embarrassment of it when he finally set Chester down in his seat. Oh, will people never stop staring?
Chester slept peacefully all the way home, and didn’t wake even when Mike switched the radio on and tuned it in to the local hip-hop station, where The Fresh Prince was rapping as fast as his breath would allow him. Once again he’d found himself blushing as he carried Chester’s still-asleep form up to their second-floor apartment, ignoring the watchman’s laughter and their unpleasant neighbor’s smug jeers.
After Mike lay Chester down on his bed and pulled the covers over him, he thought fleetingly of changing into his PJs. But he was really too tired, and all he was capable of doing right then was sinking into bed and falling asleep in a matter of minutes.
_______
He woke abruptly at around 2 AM. Something didn’t feel right. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Nothing misplaced or missing. Yet Mike could have sworn there was something fishy about the whole scenario.
He got out of bed, and his first thought was to check on Chester. Mike walked across the room to his friend’s bed and pulled back the covers a bit. Chester was sleeping soundly and peacefully, his young face the very picture of innocence. Mike smiled involuntarily, like he always did at the sight of Chester, and brushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he slouched back to his bed, feeling a bit more relaxed and satisfied.
He woke up again at 3:30 AM, and this time he was certain something was wrong. Once again his first thought was of Chester. His heart thumping in apprehension, be made his way to Chester’s bed and pulled the covers back, slowly and fearfully this time.
Chester wasn’t there.
Mike forced himself to keep a cool head. Chester was probably in the bathroom, or in the kitchen for a glass of water. Or maybe he woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, and was out in the balcony as was his wont.
Mike checked all these places, but could find Chester nowhere. Frantic now, he tried calling his cell phone. His heart sank as he heard Chester’s loud Stone Temple Pilots ring-tone issuing from the cell phone on his bedside table. Where was Chester? Mike knew it wasn’t habitual for Chester to just vanish – they both made sure they were within sight and reach of each other at all times.
Crazy, frightening thoughts rifled through Mike’s head as he sat down on his bed to prevent himself collapsing. There was only one possibility left. Someone, for unfathomable reasons, had kidnapped Chester.
With trembling hands, Mike reached for his cell phone. It took him several tries to jab in 911 properly, as his shaking fingers kept hitting some other key. With bated breath he waited for the line to connect.
“My best friend’s been kidnapped!” he burst out the moment it did.
The voice on the other end faltered. “Beg pardon?”
“My best friend’s been kidnapped,” Mike repeated, fighting to keep his voice steady. At the detached male voice’s request, he recounted the last half hour in a terse, frightened tone.
There was a pause after Mike finished his narrative. Then, calm and clinical, the voice asked, “Has there been any demand for ransom? A note or such?”
“No,” Mike said. “But Chester’s gone, and he doesn’t usually just disappear, so kidnapping’s the most likely explanation to me.”
“Why don’t you come to us in the morning?” the voice suggested. “We’ll talk fully then. Just ask for Detective Delson, or Detective Hahn – that’s me. Meanwhile, keep an eye out. Call if your friend turns up.”
“What’re you gonna do?” inquired Mike.
“We’ll list him as a Missing Person. Um, your name and address, please? And your friend’s, as well as his physical description. A photograph tomorrow would be most helpful.”
Mike gave the voice all the information required, and then said, unable to fight his panic and fear any longer, “You’ll find him, won’t you?”
The voice paused again. Finally, it said, “I can assure you we’ll try our best.”
“Please,” whispered Mike imploringly. “I need him.”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end, before the
person said, somewhat uneasily, “We’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shinoda.”
The line went dead. Fearful and apprehensive, Mike got back into bed, but quite unsurprisingly found himself unable to sleep for the remainder of the night.
_______
OK, so I know it's a bit long, but remember, it's the intro. So, yeah. But I'll try to make the other chapters more normal sized.
[1]Ryu and Tak are the MCs of Styles Of Beyond. You'd know if you like Fort Minor as well. I've heard Tak and Mike are high school friends. I'm not sure if it's true, but I decided to put them in here anyway.
Thanks for reading! :)
Peace.