Free Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares by Tom DeLonge

it’s a nightmare. We were about ready to track him down and beat the shit out of him.”
    â€œShouldn’t be hard. He’s at University Hospital. ICU.”
    Hillenbrand’s face fell, and he turned back to the street. “Sorry,” he murmured. Jonas nodded, accepting the apology.
    The two of them continued on in silence and watched the valet park cars that had been left by the entrance. An older woman in a fur stole came out the front door of the Eden. A sharply dressed man chased behind her, an unopened umbrella clutched in his hand.
    Hillenbrand’s eyes widened and he jogged ahead, flagging down the first cab to pass. The woman looked him over. Rain dripped off the brim of his bowler hat while she stayed dry under her assistant’s umbrella.
    â€œThank you, Charlie,” she said to Hillenbrand and offered him her hand. Jonas curled his lip, wondering if the doorman was supposed to kiss it like some peasant, but then he saw the flash of green and realized she was giving him money.
    The door of the hotel opened again. A black man in an impeccable pinstripe suit studied Jonas from the top of his head to the tips of his sneakers. His beard and mustache combo was perfectly trimmed, and he pulled his mouth to the side as if looking truly unimpressed.
    â€œMr. Anderson?” he asked in a deep, hearty voice.
    â€œYes, hi,” Jonas said quickly, switching the bag of clothes to his left hand so he could extend his right. Instead of taking it, the man motioned inside and then walked back through the door. Jonas followed, uncertainly, tossing a look at Hillenbrand who gave him a thumbs-up. Jonas smiled, glad he at least had won over the doorman. He hoped Mr. Marshall would feel the same.

Chapter Six
    â€œI f you don’t mind me getting to the point, Mr. Anderson,” the manager said as they entered the grand lobby, “where the hell have you been for the past two weeks? If I’d have gotten any other applications, I would have filled the position.”
    He spun on the marble floors and faced Jonas, who’d completely lost track of the conversation, instead astounded by the beauty of the hotel itself.
    The front desk was to his left, a small mahogany station with two petite women, both beautiful with coifed blond hair and dark red lipstick. Their dark eyes followed Jonas before they flashed him nearly identical, pleasant smiles. Jonas looked up at the tray ceiling where a mural had been painted, soft white clouds with dots of silver stars in the background. It seemed familiar, and it only took a moment for him to realize he remembered it from his childhood. The entire place smelled of old money—paper and sawdust and the lingering hint of expensive perfume.
    â€œMr. Anderson. Alan,” the manager snapped. Jonas turned to him quickly and apologized. “Where have you been?”
    â€œOh…” Jonas felt the handle of the plastic bag cutting into his left wrist. “I’m actually not Alan. I’m his brother, Jonas. I was hoping I could step in for him. You see, he’s—”
    Marshall laughed loudly, startling the women at the desk into busying themselves. The sound bordered on malicious and Jonas felt his muscles tighten for an impending argument.
    â€œYou’re not even the right Anderson?” the man called out. “Now that’s just hilarious.” Marshall continued laughing, but it only succeeded in making Jonas more determined. This wasn’t a joke to him. This was his only shot at keeping him and Alan afloat.
    â€œI’m Jonas Anderson,” he said. “My brother Alan and I were on our way here from Portland. But coming over the mountain, we were in an accident.”
    The smile faded from Marshall’s face.
    â€œAnd my brother…” Jonas absently brushed his hand through his hair, messing up the slicked style he’d tried for at the hospital. “Well, Alan’s at University Hospital in