HEAL

2 -- ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG

Laurent didn't feel well.  He hadn't for much of the evening, and it could have been for a number of reasons.  The stress of the last few weeks and months of worrying about his twin.  The stifling, warm air, or lack of cool, fresh air, in the restaurant he and Eleni had just left.  Or the nagging, stabbing pain in his head, the onset of a migraine, he assumed.  As he drove home to his small apartment in downtown L.A., he rubbed the front of his head, trying to soothe the pain away.

He and Larry led very different lives, polar opposites, in fact.  Twins, huh ?  People would say.  Laurent had a small, one bedroom, well equipped modern apartment, with amazing views over the Los Angeles cityscape.  And on nights like tonight, when it was all lit up like a Christmas tree, he thought it was beautiful.  He didn't drink, smoke, and he definitely didn't do drugs, oh no, no, no.  He started every day with a run, yoga and meditation.  He stalked around his apartment for hours when Les Twins weren't working, tablet in hand, earpiece in place, making calls, taking conference calls, arranging and planning his and Larry's schedules, doing interviews.  Business, Les Twins business.  And he was good at it.  And despite his twins' apparent hell bent attempt at self destruction, they were thriving.  

In absolute contrast, Larry had a huge mansion in the hills, six bedrooms, what the fuck did he need six ...... never mind.  Laurent had heard from friends, on past occasions, that it was quite normal, if you could call Larry's sexual appetite and behaviour "normal", for him to have a girl in one of at least three of the bedrooms at a time, with strict instructions not to wander the hallways, just waiting for him and his dick to grace them with his presence.  

He showed the outside world ostentatious, conspicuous wealth, just as he had wanted it.  He drank, did drugs, ate nothing but junk food, and fucked anything on two legs that looked with interest in his direction.  He would die young, Laurent had told him on more than one occasion.

"Only the good die young, Lau"  he had retorted, half laughing, half worried that his brother might be right.  He would die young, but there was nothing good about him, he pondered, the good having got up and left a long time ago.  It left when Laurent did.

Still rubbing his head, wincing with pain now, Laurent was almost home when his phone buzzed an incoming call.  Hands free, his earpiece still attached to his ear, he answered.

"Answer call.  Laurent Bourgeois, speak."  he told whoever was on the other end.

"Mr Laurent Bourgeois ?"  

"That's what I said, how can I help ?"  

"Your brother is Larry Bourgeois ?"  Laurent groaned out loud.  What the fuck had he done now ?  The police department was his first guess.  He was talking to the police.  

"What are we talking about, officer ?  What's he "allegedly" done this time ?"  Laurent had had the dubious pleasure of collecting his brother from one police precinct or another, on many occasions in the past.  He assumed this would just be another one of those times.

"No, no ..... I'm not ..... this is Cedars Sinai ER department, sir."  Laurent jerked the steering wheel suddenly, screeching the car to a halt at the side of the road so he could focus on what this too calm voice was about to tell him.  

"Can you just confirm some details for me, Mr Bourgeois, for security purposes."  He told them what they needed to know beyond brusquely, but they were used to that.  Used to families receiving bad news, and, for FUCK'S SAKE !  Will you please just tell me !

"I'm afraid your brother, Larry, was involved in a serious RTC on the Hollywood ....."

"RTC ?"

"Road Traffic Collision."