Prologue.

Chester Charles Bennington.

You might remember him better as little Charlie Bennington from the hit Fox tv show “The Kid’s Alright” back in ’94. He was a big thing back then. Bigger than the Big Mac, you could even say. Although that commercial is much more irritation than it’s worth, really.

He was seven when the show premiered and hit it off with families across the country. His croppy blonde bangs and dimpled smile were unmatched by competition on all other networks. Children wanted to be his friend and parents secretly wished they could trade in their own kids for him. He was the adorable little troublemaker who could get out of anything with those big glossy brown eyes and a puppy dog pout. As his parent’s on the show had always said, he was their little troublemaker with a heart of gold.

The show ran well throughout his elementary school years, hitting it’s peak when he was twelve with episode 403 “Charlie’s First Day”, and from there in it slowly took it’s course in shutting down. The problem with child stars is that once they hit puberty, the writers always wonder where is this show going? What more can we do then go where all other shows have gone before? First crush, problems with teachers, bad grades, etc. It would be too boxed in; too ordinary. So when Charlie’s voice took on an unexpected change during a later recording, the writers decided it was time to cancel the show, after all.

He was thirteen at the time, and had transformed from loveable little Charlie into a surefire pain in the ass. He was demanding like no other star on the show, and so by the time it was cancelled, the rumor had already spread about his behaviors and it was next to impossible to get a job. Hollywood humored him, however, as they always do. He stood alongside other former child stars like Tia and Tamara Mowry and Wil Wheaton on the red carpet every couple of years, he was sure America would realize that they wanted him back on the big screen.

However, after hitting his eighteenth birthday and still having nothing to fall back on, he could be seen at his best robbing liquor stores or being shoved up against police cars, half tripping out from whatever shit his friend Julio had made for him. The most entertainment that was gotten from these incidences was a swipe he took at every cop that tried to take him in. It was like watching a really bad episode of cops with someone you used to care about on the screen. It was a train wreck, but America is rather fond of train wrecks. Though, after it lost it’s shock value Hollywood wrote him off as a second Cory Feldman and nearly every director deemed him un-hirable.

He fell into obscurity soon after, living with his older sister and her dogs, Bootsie and Carmel. Despite the names they do happen to be Rottweilers, and vicious ones at that. His sister had never had the recognition that he’d had when he was younger, though she had dabbled in commercials here and there. If she was lucky, you might recognize her from the old Bud Light commercial she did with her brother. The one with “Ladies Night: $1 Beer” sign outside, and the group of guys trying to get in dressed as women. Not one of Charlie’s prouder parts, but it paid the rent. As for her, she was an extra that, if you look closely enough, passes right in front of them to get into the bar.

She was a beautiful girl, and could’ve gotten a substantial role if she hadn’t marked herself as being Charlie’s caretaker once the show was cancelled. She’d seen what Hollywood had done to her younger brother, and wasn’t really all that fond of letting it fuck her over as well. The only problem was that she only ever listened to one side of the story. But when it’s your little brother, one side only ever matters. Though Jes did notice later on that taking care of Charlie was a handful, and it was near impossible to hold a job and keep him happy all at the same time. He’d never really gotten that chance to grow up, so there he was, acting as bratty as a preteen on his 20th birthday. It would take its toll on anyone, you can be assured.

“But, over the past year he’s been doing a lot of soul searching,” Charlie patted his chest for effect, his voice dripping with insincere sincerity. “And I think it’s safe to say he’s finally rounded himself out. He’s a better person.”

The cashier that was being subjected to his life story was staring at him with an irritated expression, “You done now?”

Charlie fixed his glasses and ran a hand through his hair before turning his eyes over to the man who was addressing him, “Yes, sir, I do think I am. The rest is history.”

“Yeah, well,” He coughed into his hand, the sound making Charlie cringe in disgust, “I hope to make you history as soon as you sign this goddamn slip.”

He shoved the credit card receipt at the blonde, a pen quickly being tossed into his fumbling hands. Charlie glared at the man, getting annoyed with how this fan was treating him.

“Y’know, if you want my autograph you should really be nicer,” He paused, squinting at the nametag, “Leroy.”

Leroy scoffed, with a roll of his eyes as he leaned forward on the counter. He was a bigger guy, and his muscles flexed a little underneath the blue vest. “Do we have to go through this every time you get groceries?” He let out an exasperated sigh, “Now sign the fucking line, already.”

Charlie shook his head, his eyes taking on a low gleam of agitation when he leaned down to sign the small white slip. He even still dotted the i with a small smiley face like he did as a kid, before handing it over.

Leroy took one glance at it and rolled his eyes, getting angry at this point, “The signature that’s on the card, Chester.”

Charlie let out a slight hiss at the use of his first name. “You really should watch your tone if you want a goddamn autograph at all!”

The slight raise in tone made Leroy slam his fist against the counter, and that succeeded in making the smaller man listen up. “Stop fucking around and sign it right!”

Charlie’s eyes were big, not able to believe that he—little Charlie Bennington was being treated like this. “Well, I never,” He scoffed, fixing his glasses.

“Cut the dramatics, Chester. You’re wearing on my last nerve.” Leroy let out a low growl.

There was another slip of white being shoved at him after it was printed, the pen lying next to it. Charlie walked over with a slight shake of his head, muttering the same line over and over again to himself as he signed it properly.

“Thank you,” Leroy said through gritted teeth, obviously having to say that to every customer. After all, he looked like he’d rather eat his own shit than thank such a pain in the ass at this point. “Now, if you cause me anymore trouble, Charlie, I’m gonna call the fucking manager.”

He tossed the bag of groceries at the blonde, who practically caved to the floor under the weight. Charlie flicked his hair back with one more death glare at the man before he walked out with one more vexation of, “Well, I never!”

The cold breeze met Charlie’s temper with a soothing touch, calming him down almost immediately as he started on the walk home. He didn’t care who it was behind that counter; Beth, Samuel or goddamn—Leroy. They always asked for his autograph and never treated him with the kind of respect he deserved. After all, he gave up his childhood for these people. He was to be treated better than some patron of a grocery store.

He just shook his head and continued on down the same old streets he never really got a chance to walk when he was a kid. Not that he felt any remorse over it, actually, quite the opposite. All his childhood moments were glorified in videotapes that were piled on the floor in his room in the attic of the house he and Jes shared. So how could he feel any sort of regret over that? He could revisit his childhood without having to remember it.

Counting every step along the way and gently but intentionally side stepping every little crack in the sidewalk, Charlie began a slight off kilter version of what some might call whistling. And, maybe if you happened to listen hard enough, you might hear some sort of dissembled melody that sounded a bit like Somebody to Love by Jefferson Airplane. Every skip in his step was purely habitual, and if someone were to have pointed it out, you could almost be sure he would never have even known he was doing it. It’s one of those second nature types of things.

When the luxury second rate house that was located somewhere about halfway between Wilshire Boulevard and Rodeo Drive came into view, Charlie noticed with a slight irk that all the lights were off. The abrupt change in his demeanor was so sudden it was as if some big hand had reached down from the sky and replaced him with someone else. But that, as we all know, would be a bit too conspicuous for any sort of God. He nearly dropped both the bags of groceries on the sidewalk as he rushed toward the seemingly vacant house. The door shoved open with ease, anxious fingers searching the floral paneling for the trusty form of the light switch. Once they slid upon it and flicked it upward, he was looking for any sign of an accident, a fight—anything. Something he could wrap his mind around, no matter how horrible.

A fluorescently yellow slip of paper was stuck to the dresser drawer beside the stairs, and only after a moment’s searching did Charlie actually see it. When it was picked up and read, to say his heart broke would be the least of his worries. Jes had announced that she had had enough in five simple words.

Take care of yourself, Chaz.

And although the words were in no way malicious or spiteful, something deep inside him could be heard snapping if you listened close enough. What exactly it was, is hard to say. But what it effected, well. It effected damn near everything. Every little meaningless habit. Every little mood he could possible feel. It’s confusing to say exactly what happened next, because it was like nothing that’s ever been documented prior.

The only change that happened instantaneously was the start of a minor eye twitch that seemed to spread through his whole body in a matter of seconds. It was the kind of movement you might expect to see in a horror movie, coming from the evil thing that happened to be bearing down on the hero. If you’ve ever happened to sit down and suffer through the Grudge, you probably know exactly what I’m referring to. For those few seconds, he was someone completely different. Unrecognizable. Any passerby would have probably thought he was undergoing some sort of seizure.

Then again, with the next flip of a number in the clock on the table, he’d seemed to regain his composure. Almost as though he’d had a short-term memory blackout, he gave one glance to the slip and crushed it between his fingers without a second thought. He picked his glasses up from the ground where they’d landed during his little episode and slid them back into place at the bridge of his nose. The small crumpled ball was tossed into the trashcan not but two feet before him and his night was to go on as planned. Only, something was different. Something unseen—something dangerous. But who knew when it was would rear it’s ugly head again.