Right Under Your Nose

Chapter 2

Alexander's little nap was cut short by a Hangover Headache™ that caused him to groggily open his eyes and look around for his friend. Syd was lying on his side on the floor and Xander chuckled to himself. He had gotten just as drunk as he did and passed out. He knelt next to where Syd laid on the floor and shook him gently.
"Come on buddy, we have to go home," Xander mumbled. He shook him a little harder. Syd didn't move.
Xander yawned and turned him over. Syd was cold. He should've put on a thicker jacket. Then he saw his face.

It was pale. His brown eyes were glazed over as they stared out into infinity and would forever. His nose was displaced and blood ran down his brow and over his lips where it pooled into a puddle of scarlet that oozed across the floor.
There was a hole in his sweatshirt as well as his chest where red was still dripping from. His arms were splayed near his chest, covered in his blood and he was in a curled up position before Xander moved him and saw why he wasn't getting up.

Alexander lept backward with a short scream and hit his head on a chair. His chest tightened, his stomach turned. This had to be some horrible hangover dream. It had to. He slapped his face and tried to wake himself up from it, but he couldn't. As much as he hated it, this was his reality now.

His best friend had been murdered and he had slept right through it.

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Alexander had shakily punched in the emergency number and waited for the operator to answer. At that time, he was hyperventilating and crying and was near incomprehensible when he was talking.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
"h-h-he's dead! som-someone k-killed h-him he-!"
"Sir, calm down-"
"S-someone k-killed him!" He sobbed into the phone before it dawned on him. Somebody killed his best friend.

On purpose.

He dropped the phone when the horrid realization hit him. Though he couldn't figure out why they had, they killed his best friend. His best friend who didn't deserve it. "Someone killed my best friend," he repeated quietly to himself. Boiling tears ran down his cheeks as he felt anger well up inside him. His pale face flushed red, redder than a rose, but his knuckles turned to paper as he clenched his fist and pounded the floor once with it, yelling at the wall.

"BAAAASTAAAAAAAARRD!"

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When the police arrived, Alexander was on the floor. He was angrily sobbing and muttering how the killer didn't even have the decency to wake him up or kill him too. The first responder that found him lying on the ground in a sweatshirt, short-shorts, and knee-high high-heeled boots stood him up and gave him a trauma blanket and a glass of water before trying to take him out of the room.
He was very hysterical about it. He resisted, asking the medics to "please take care of him,"
"Please, be gentle with him, he's sensitive, please!" He would not let himself be taken away from Syd's body until the coroners promised to treat him as gently as they could. They did, they even pinky promised when he demanded it of them. After that, Xander went warily with the police.

When they arrived at the station and interrogation room (y'know, the one with the two-way mirror and corner security camera), he still had on a trauma blanket and was going through the fourth of the five stages of grief. He wasn't cuffed, but in a situation like this he felt like a criminal. A gruff looking officer came and sat down on the other side of the table and gave Xan a half-glance before asking for his name.
"Alexander,"
"Full name,"
"Alexander Dol Fohda Na Grèine Carruth,"
The officer raised his eyebrow at him and wrote his name down on the sheet of paper.
"Age and phone number?"
"29 and ###-###-####,"
The officer wrote those down and tapped his pencil on the table while he thought of what to ask next.

"What were you doing before and at the time of the murder?"

"M-me and Syd drank together and then I passed out. I assume he was at his mirror getting ready to leave when..." Xander hugged himself tightly and looked at the table top as there was a long and painful silence.
"And you didn't hear anything?"
"I wish I had... I wish I had..."
"Mhm."
The officer shuffled his pile of paper and scratched his mustache as he gave Alexander his instructions, "We're going to let you go home for the night but we think we'll place some officers around your address over night, just in case the suspect is stalking you. Address please and then we'll call you a taxi."
Xander nodded told him his address before having to give back his blanket. The pleasant officer walked him out to the taxi and told him that a detective would call him in the morning to ask him some more in depth questions.
Just then, a small reporter woman shoved the officer out of the way with a strength that did not fit her stature and asked, "Is it true you slept through the whole murder of the stripper, Sydney Davenport?" whilst shoving a microphone down his nose.
Xander's eyes turned stone cold against her and he replied, live on statewide television, "fuck off," before slamming the cab door shut and almost catching the reporter's fingers in it. He leaned towards the driver and said, "Drive. Recklessly, if you can. I'll pay you extra if you can crash and kill me,"
The driver chuckled nervously and turned on the radio to a random station. It was a news station. The only thing it was screeching about was the murder that happened that night. It said the victim was a drunk stripper and overall painted Sydney Davenport as the one who was at fault.
Xander couldn't bear it. "Turn it off," he ordered the driver. The driver, sensing an extreme negative force in the backseat, did as he commanded and they sat in silence all the way back to his apartment.

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When he walked in, he was angry again.

WHY DIDN'T HE WAKE UP?

WHY DIDN'T HE HEAR ANYTHING?

WHY WAS HE NOT MURDERED?

WHY DID SYDNEY HAVE TO DIE?

"WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THAT!?" Alexander yelled as he slammed his fist into the wall near the door. He choked up and clutched his injured hand as he sunk to ground with his back against the door.
Angry tears ran down his face and he hit the door with his hand.

Xander fell asleep that night, curled up next to the door in a puddle of his own tears and sadness, holding his now broken heart where it lay in his chest.