Matt Berry surveyed the silent warehouse, at the rows and rows of amps, guitars and other confiscated musical equipment. There were probably over thousands of drum sets and microphone stands arranged in neat rows along the walls and on large wooden crate carriers. He was responsible for counting every single piece that entered the building, and ensuring that none of it ever disappeared. It was his neck on the line if he missed anything.

The Locker had been built over ten years ago, when the government decided it wasn’t cost effective to destroy all the contraband that went through the system every year. It was situated five miles from the centre of town a massive steel grey complex that was hard to miss. No one spoke of the place, though unless it was in a derogative sense. Some called it the black hole of dreams, the place where people’s hopes were crushed. That is if their hopes had anything to do with creating music other than the approved.

“Fuck, where is it?”

Right now, Matt was searching for a certain custom made Schechter guitar that had been brought in about a month ago. Apparently, it had been relinquished voluntarily by an anonymous source. The Creed had found it at the main entrance to their barracks with a note attached telling them to treat the instrument with the utmost respect. That had confused all of them; however, they had stuck to protocol sending it over to Matt to process and put safely away in the Locker.

Matt had itemised it, giving it a barcode and tag number and he thought he had put it near the back of the warehouse. But it seemed to have disappeared.

“Number 31071981L, number 31071981L...” Matt mumbled to himself as he stalked the rows, scowling in frustration at the many different models he passed. “Number 31...” He paused poking his head over to look at an instrument tucked behind a box. “Nope...that’s not it... 31071981...oh...?”

Something caught his eye from the other side of the building. He pushed his way through a jumble of broken drum sets to a blanket-covered object at the west side of the warehouse.

It looked distinctly guitar shaped...

Whipping away the blanket he blinked at the shiny instrument that was revealed. With black and white vertical stripes running the length of the body it was a classy looking guitar. Unharmed it sat as if that was exactly where it was meant to be. He breathed a sigh of relief, carefully lifting the instrument from its stand.

“Right...need to send this to the Mayor...”

Matt had a habit of talking out loud, to himself. But, considering he worked almost exclusively in the Locker and he was there alone, most of the time it wasn’t all that surprising. He hadn’t been cut out for the Creed itself, unlike his twin. Yet, he didn’t really mind that. He preferred his own company, so working in the Locker was perfect for him.

Humming, Matt headed back to his office, carrying the guitar carefully in his arms. As he approached, his cell phone buzzed in his back pocket. Shifting the weight of the instrument, he tugged it out and held it up to his ear.

“Yeah?” he answered distractedly, until he recognised the deep, husky voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, Shads, what’s doing?”

He pushed open the door with his shoulder and hip, walking in and setting the Schechter down on the workbench. “Really? Where are you? Oh. Say hi to them for me... When you get there. Yeah? You left my brother at the barracks. Yeah, he said you were taking some time off.”

Matt shifted the phone to his right ear as he grabbed a cloth and began polishing the surface of the guitar. “Uh huh. Still checking up on me? Yeah, nothing new. Just doing something for the mayor.” He looked down into the almost reflective surface of the guitar. “Oh, he wanted this guitar. You know the one that was dropped at the barracks. Yeah, that’s the one.”

He propped the guitar up on its side, carefully running his fingers over the strings, nodding his head as Matthew continued talking on the other end of the line. Matt frowned a little at the tension that was evident in the other man’s voice. He sounded like a lot of things were going on in his head.

“So, what was it you needed, Shads?” His hand paused over the guitar’s body at Matthew’s answer. “What? Are you mad?” He groaned, smearing his free hand over his face. “No. Sorry. I’m not questioning you. You just shocked me. No...it’s fine. You know the item number?”

Matt moved away from the bench, grabbing a note pad off his desk, flipping the page he took a pen from his shirt pocket, holding it poised above the page.

“19810210...R? Right.” Matt scribbled the number down. “I’ll, um...find it for you and let you know. Will you come pick it up? Okay, well...I guess I’ll see you? Okay then.”

He scratched a small note next to the number. “Oh, by the way, Jason said Eski told you not to go back to the barracks for the rest of the week? Heh, you should go have a holiday somewhere.” He smiled slightly at Matthew’s response to that. “Yeah, make it a second honeymoon... Right, well catcha, then. Yup. Bye.”

Hanging up, Matt stood staring down at the note in his hand. He had no idea what the T-One was thinking with his request. It seemed so out of character and at any rate it wasn’t protocol. Usually only the Mayor or the General ever requested the removal of an item from the Locker and if that ever did occur it was extremely rare. Such as this Schechter that Elliott had asked delivery of.

But for Matthew to demand the release of an instrument...that surprised Matt. Still, it wasn’t his place to ask questions. He would do his job. He just hoped to Hell that Matthew knew what he was doing.

* * * * *

Matthew blinked hard, leaning his head back against the driver’s seat and tucking his cell phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t sure what he’d just done, it had been a decision he’d made off the cuff while driving back to Brian’s. But, his mind was in turmoil over Johnny’s predicament and many different thoughts had been flying around his head on the drive. And this seemed the easiest one to manage.

In hindsight, it was probably not the smartest choice he’d made, but it wasn’t as if he was doing anything illegal. He would have to wait to see how it would all play out, but for now it was out of his hands. In any case, he had other things to think of now.

Sighing and rubbing at his face in a tired gesture, Matthew shut off the engine. Quiet fell around him as he sat in the vehicle on Brian’s front lawn. He stared out the front windscreen at the house. It looked inviting, like it was calling to him. He felt a weight on his shoulders, though. Now that he was away from the Astor again he felt a sense of guilt settling heavily on his mind.

After the earlier conversation with Johnny, and the even earlier one with his friends, the past was right at the forefront of his mind. Everything that had happened with Johnny’s elder brother still weighed on him even after so long; though he had managed to quash those feelings beneath a facade of nonchalance.

Maybe General Eskino had been right to force him to take more time off. He really needed to get his head into gear before going back. Get his life sorted out as well, though that seemed too huge a task to even start thinking about. Too huge a task for a single week. He’d have to start with the little things, spending more time with his wife, with his friends. Zacky would approve of that. He laughed bitterly at that thought. Zacky had seemed so distant when he’d gone to borrow his tent from him. Cordial, yes, but not overly pleased to see him.

Matthew wondered for a moment when his friends had started to resent him for his position at The Creed, coming to the conclusion that they had probably hated the fact that he worked there ever since Luke’s execution. Or maybe even before that. He would have to fix that as well. Having them resent him for his career choice was not something he wanted to have hanging between them forever.

Rubbing at his arms, he then checked to make sure the vehicle was in park, before climbing out to stand in the driveway. He slid his Aviators from his face, hooking them onto the neck of his top. Taking a deep breath he steeled himself for the onslaught of questions and opinions he knew he would face once he walked through the door. But, he knew, for him at least, the most important person to focus on would be Valary. He had promised her the world, once again, and once again he hadn’t delivered. He had a lot to make up for.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry? Did you just say that Johnny is at your place?” Jimmy had a dumbfounded expression on his face. Matthew had just got done explaining why he had taken so long to get back.

They were seated in the Pool room at the back of the house, sprawled around the room on several large sofas. Matthew was lounging on the one closest to the back door. Val was curled up against his left side; Michelle’s little Maltese cross, Pinkly, was snuggling into his other.

Matthew nodded, absently running his fingers through Pinkly’s fur. The small dog turned its head and snuffled at his fingers. He tickled her gently, before glancing over at his friend.

Jimmy shook his head, an incredulous expression on his face. “Fuck. That’s crazy. You think he’s okay there? By himself?”

“You should’ve brought him over here,” Brian added, while cracking open what was his second beer.

Matthew sighed. “I didn’t think that’d be a good idea. He’s completely out of it.”

“Whaddya mean?” Jimmy said around a mouthful of corn chips which he’d just shoved into his mouth.

“Hey, any left for me?”

Jimmy tossed the bag over to him. “There. So, what do you mean ‘out of it’?”

Matthew caught the bag tipping it up to see how much was left, several pieces falling out onto the small table next to the sofa he was sitting on. “He’s not talking and shit. You say something to him, and he doesn’t respond. And he acts like he doesn’t want to live. It’s really fucking sad, actually.”

“Jesus.” Brian took a swig of his beer, then wiped at the back of his mouth, saying, “That doesn’t sound good; maybe you should send him to a shrink.”

Val lifted her head slightly from Matthew’s chest, adding, “You should try and find his parents.”

There was a long pause after her suggestion. After the raid, the rest of the Seward’s had left town. For a while at least. Recently they had returned to New Huntington, but they were rarely seen out of their house, keeping to themselves and no longer visiting their old haunts. Matthew was the only one who had seen them at any length. He often drove past the old cemetery where Luke had been buried, and sometimes he would see one or other of Seward’s parents visiting the gravesite.

Early on he had entertained the thought of approaching them to try and find out how they were handling things, but as the weeks, months, years had passed Matthew felt that it wasn’t his place to disturb them. They were obviously grieving, and he didn’t think it would be fair on them to try and talk to them. But, now that Johnny was in the mix maybe he would have to reconsider his position. But, it wasn’t something he relished the thought of dealing with.

“And do what?” Matthew finally asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“I don’t know,” Val murmured, absently rubbing a palm over the print on the T-shirt he’d changed into.

“It’d be easier to send him to a shrink...” he mumbled while watching her gentle movements.

She met his gaze, seeing the weariness in his eyes. His lips twisted in a tired smile. She smiled back before resting her cheek against his chest again. He ran his fingers through her hair, sighing a little. It felt good having her there, close to him. It was killing him to be gone from her so long. Even though he didn’t like to admit it.

“Well, you should still bring him over here. Some time,” Brian stated gruffly.

“He’s still under custody, y’know,” Matthew pointed out, voice low.

“So? Doesn’t mean he has to stay in the one place. As long as you know where he is, right?”

Matthew shrugged. “Guess so.”

Dipping his hand in the bag of chips, he pulled some out, popping one in his mouth then feeding the other pieces to Pinkly. The dog yipped happily, crunching them up before nestling back into the man’s leg.

Jimmy chuckled, “Do you spoil Bella as much as you spoil her, Matt?”

Matthew snorted. “Bella’s a dumb dog. Remember when she ate those special brownies?”

“That was your fault for leaving them where she could reach them,” Val reminded him with a giggle.

“Oh, yeah?” He tickled her side gently, “If my memory serves me, you’re the one who made them.”

“Oh, you,” she slapped at his chest. He stuck out his bottom lip at her, pretending to look hurt. Val let her head drop back against his torso, as she sighed not dignifying him with a response.

Matthew chuckled, stroking her hair in a tender gesture.

“You have to go back to work tomorrow, don’t you, Val?” Jimmy asked after a moment.

Valary nodded, the movement causing Matthew’s chest to tighten. The thought of staying at home while his wife went to work galled him more than he would admit. Call him old-fashioned, but Matt still followed the notion that as the man of the house he had to do more work than her. That he had to be the bread winner, and be responsible for the family’s financial stability. Even though he wasn’t as patriarchal in his thinking as some of the other men in the Creed. He had no problem with Val earning a living. He just felt responsible, that was all.

“Can I come with?” Matthew asked, lazily.

Valary tilted her head, blinking up at him. “You want to come to the Council with me?”

“Sure,” the corners of his mouth twitched. “I don’t have anything better to do.” Especially since he wasn’t going to be at the barracks all week.

“What about Johnny?”

Matthew answered, “I’ll bring him too.”

“I don’t know.” Val scratched at her cheek. “It’s not all that interesting.”

“It’s election time, though.”

“True.” A thoughtful expression appeared in Val’s eyes. “I have to go in early.”

Matthew lifted his shoulders in a casual gesture. “I’ll come over late morning. I need to go pick something up first, anyway.”

Jimmy leaned forward on his seat. He was rolling a smoke on the coffee table in front of him. Tapping the end on the glass, he pulled out a lighter, the small flame flaring as he set it to the end of the cigarette paper.

“What’s that?” he asked, curiosity shining in his bright blue eyes.

Matthew looked over at him. “What’s what?”

“What do you need to pick up?” Jimmy stuck the end of the smoke between his lips, holding it there, not really doing anything with it, even as a tiny puff of smoke trailed upwards.

Matthew shook his head, muttering, “Just something I promised Jason I’d get. Since I’m not working this week.”

“Oh, sounds mysterious,” Jimmy grinned, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Everything’s a mystery to you, Rev,” Brian commented, drily.

“Yeah. Did you hear about those old records that were left on Heirrison’s Field? They all disappeared.”

“Heirrison’s? You mean the old baseball park?” Matthew picked through the remains of the corn chips, flicking pieces absently to Pinkly. Val had settled against him again, just listening to the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, moving his smoke from the left side of his mouth to the right. “The Flusher’s moved it all, apparently. But, I don’t think they did.”

“Maybe it was the Creed,” Brian suggested. “The stuff could’ve been moved to the Locker.”

Matthew asked at the same time, “What records were they anyway? Music?”

“Yeah, there’re still some illegal bootlegs of old time bands floating around. The Creed would want to get rid of them all.” Jimmy sat back on his seat, the leather creaking faintly as he sank down into the middle of the cushion.

“Wouldn’t they burn them all?” Brian pointed out. “I mean, sure they keep all the equipment and instruments. But, albums? Wouldn’t they want to destroy them all? Matt?”

“Um, they do. Most of the time.” Matthew scrunched up the empty chip packet, leaving it on the table. “But, I think they keep one copy of every album in the Locker.”

“Why would they? If it’s illegal?” Brian looked at his friend, one eyebrow raised. Matthew didn’t know the answer to that question. He was the commander, and he should know these things, but it had been so long since he’d read up on the policies of the Creed.

Jimmy smirked, noting the bigger male’s reticence and seeming lack of knowledge. “The Creed keeps one of every album as a failsafe. They often use random clips from them to use as propaganda against the forming of bands, or musical groups.” His voice took on the formal air of a news reporter. “There was a rally several months ago, sponsored by the Creed – Matt you were there – where the Mayor stood up and pronounced a reminder of the ‘terribly dehumanising influence’,” he made quotation marks in the air, “of rock music and some music was played to back up his statements.”

Matthew rolled his eyes, interrupting his friend, “Don’t remind me. That was the most boring speech I’ve heard Elliott give, ever. I almost fell asleep listening to that.”

“What did they play?” Brian butted in.

“Can’t remember,” Jimmy said, “but, whatever it was it was some heavy, hardcore shit.”

“It was Rebel Assassin’s Prelude to Disaster,” Matthew said, quietly. “I do remember that.” He looked down at Val, who smiled faintly at him as their eyes met. “A definite turn off when it comes to musical tastes...”

“Yeah, that’s their heaviest song,” Jimmy commented, frowning a little.

“All their shit was heavy,” Brian said, shifting his weight on his seat.

“That’s true. But Prelude was the heaviest.”

They went quiet after Jimmy’s statement. The atmosphere in the room was unusually sombre and there wasn’t much else any of them felt like saying.

Jimmy continued to fiddle with the cigarette in his mouth, sinking into his own little world, deep in thought. Brian pulled out his notepad and began scribbling lines down, his gaze fixed on the pages as a look of concentration formed on his face. Pinkly jumped off from next to Matthew, racing over to jump up next to her master. Brian scratched at the little dog’s belly as he kept writing.

Matthew leaned his head against the back of the sofa, staring up at the clean white ceiling, exhaling in a tired breath. Val stayed snuggled into his body, her breaths steady, calming. He wrapped his arm around her waist, sliding down a little so he was almost lying on the cushions.

The only sounds in the room besides the scratching of Brian’s pen on paper were the soft noises of their breathing, which filled the room in a quiet harmony, nothing else encroaching on the stillness that settled over them.