Nothing

A bad vibe crept up his spine and caused his stomach to grumble. His head hurt. His whole body was in pain. Something was off. Maybe it was because he didn't remember anything from last night. Maybe because he was standing in a middle of a trashed room he had never seen before.

Two of the room's walls were decorated with dissected butterflies trapped in plastic frames, the other one had a big white cloth covering most of it and the last one was filled with black and white pictures and an old wooden desk right next to the locked door.

Mac walked towards it, forced the door but it didn't open. Then he directed his gaze to the desk, grabbed one of the pictures, and frowned.

"What the--" He couldn't finish what he started to say. His heart began racing, his blood filled with fear. The situation had the word danger written all over it. He grabbed more pictures, one after the other.

Cassie was in all of them...some of her walking down the street, others in a library, dancing ballet, at a restaurant, leaving Tate's house. He felt like he was invading her privacy even though he wasn't the one who took the pictures.

Who took them then? It definitely wasn't Tate since he was in some of the pictures. He threw all of them. They flew and landed in random places in the room. One picture, though, remained on the desk.

It was a picture of him on the floor of the room, sleeping. This must be a sick joke, he thought. Mac tapped his jeans' pocket and of course, his phone wasn't there. He heard a noise coming from behind the door...steps getting closer and closer.

"Hello?" he yelled. "Who are you?"

Stepping on the pictures, he stood in the center of the room looking at the door. His hands formed in trembling fists and his chest moved up and down following the rhythm of his breathing. A drop of sweat slid on his forehead from his ginger hair to his pale freckled cheek.

The door opened.

"Pete?" Mac took a step back.

"You thought you'd never see me again, huh?" Pete opened his arms wide, revealing his tattooed skin. The whole scenario looked out of pace, Pete wore a black sleeveless shirt that had cuts on the neckline and back, obviously he didn't mind the cold weather or the blizzard coming from the open door.

"I...what is this?"

"Home." Pete slurred the words. Mac watched him as he closed the door. The blizzard stopped but the room remained cold and dark. Mac hadn't seen him in months, but it was clear that he hadn't been the same ever since he left.

"Now is the moment you ask 'what do you want?'" He lowered his voice and frowned, mimicking Mac as much as possible. Mac stared at him. He could feel his breath from far away.

"You don't want to talk...fine, I'll do the talking for you..." He looked Mac up and down and placed his hand on his chin, then thoughtfully added, "You were always the quiet one, you were so boring back then and also really demanding and moody, sometimes I asked myself why were you in the band since you didn't seem to be enjoying yourself."

He started moving around the room, circling Mac with long hard steps. "Where do I begin, eh? I guess I'll start from when you kicked me out of the band."

"We didn't kick you out, we just-"

"There is no need to lie," he said calmly, "you kicked me out as if I had meant nothing to the band." Mac felt Pete's face slowly contorting into rage, but snapping out of it in just a second, his face turned to a calm but grizzly form of acceptance. He smiled, showing his perfectly white teeth. "That reminds me of a phrase I love, it goes: hic iacet pulvis cinis et nihil'...do you know what it means?"

Mac bit his lip.

"Here lies dust, ashes and nothing." Pete replied to himself. "And that's what I've become: Nothing. I used to have a dream, being in a band, and you destroyed it. No-actually, I've decided it's all irrelevant, being in a band, meeting all of you. I never really cared."

"Are you even listening to yourself...you're not making any sense!" Mac said in an attempt to shake Pete up but he only raised a dark eyebrow and clenched his unshaven jaw.

"Nothing makes sense...can't you understand?" Pete reasoned. After a long silence, an uncontrollable and hysterical laughter stormed out from the deep in his throat. He had to cover his mouth to stop laughing, he curved his back forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Mac, I have something." He cleared his throat but his Joker smile prevailed like two hooks opening his mouth outwards and thus forming a gruesome representation of false happiness.

"What?"

"Hush." He whispered and placed his finger on Mac's mouth.

"But-"

"I said...SILENCE!" His voice resounded against the walls, he pushed his greasy hair back and sighed. "I have a secret." He nodded as if he had found the correct words for his big reveal. "Do you know anything about Greek mythology?"

"Sure...from school."

"Do you know about Icarus myth?"

Mac narrowed his eyes at Pete, not understanding where he was driving at. "Yes," he declared finally.

"Did you know that Icarus is actually alive?"

"You can't be serious."

"Poor, innocent and naive Mac...don't you know that everything is real."

"What do you mean?"

"Icarus is alive. He goes by the name of Tate...know him?"

"Tate? Our Tate?"

"He stopped being mine the minute he-well it doesn't matter. I'll skip any unnecessary information for the present, but all you need to know is that Icarus survived and he is plagued with a curse, a curse in which every time he falls in love, that person must die. Tate means danger...Cassie is in danger."

"You're crazy."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me. But I need Cassie."

"Why?"

"I like to collect beautiful things."

"You are sick. I'll call the police when-"

"Not so quick," Pete interrupted, "I have a deal for you; I know you have a festival in two weeks and Tate hasn't been the best band mate lately..." Pete placed his hands on Mac's shoulders and stood close to his face. "Mac, you are destined to do great things."

"I don't get it." Mac shook his head slowly.

"You've always been the best band mate, the most caring, the most talented. Tate doesn't deserve to lead the band."

"So?"

"Bring me Cassie or make her hate Tate. I'll give you all you ever wanted. Can you imagine? First comes fame, then power, and then of course money."

"I can't do that."

"Last time we talked you needed money to help your father in his workshop and pay for your sister's college education. How is she by the way? Lauren was such a pretty girl... shame that she was so easy to win over. I like more complicated girls-she was boring. "

"She was destroyed when you left her."

"I would say I'm sorry but I'm not a liar... anyway, are you going to take the deal or...nah?" he smiled and added under his breath, "I bet she still says that."

"Can't I think about it?"

"How can I know you are not going to tell anyone about this?"

"How can I know you are not going to kill me the moment I walk out that door?"

Pete smirked. "Touché...I hope you are intelligent enough to know which side to choose."

"There are sides?"

"My side is cooler."

"And creepier."

"That word does describe me best," He said, proud of who he was, of his dark side. "Now go, before I decide to kill you before you leave."

Mac's eyes opened wide. "I'm joking...don't worry." Pete started that hysterical laugh again. Mac had to force a nervous laugh to please Pete, but it scared him knowing it was only half of what he was feeling.

Mac started walking towards the door, not knowing exactly where he was going after that. He heard Pete say "smile" and then the noise of a flashbulb. He turned quickly to discover that Pete had a camera on his hand.

"A little souvenir." It was the last thing he said after Mac shut the door and started running.