RAMMSTEIN - In stiller Nacht

There was something wrong. Richard felt it, as he briefly watched Till just sitting there, leaning on the backrest and looking down, his face carrying this sad and lonely expression. After being carried away with a big laugh, Richard had spotted him, but the others didn’t seemed worried at all. In fact, they just kept on joking, doing impressions, drinking. Sometimes one of them would shake head at something, indicating that something was out of hand, out of control.


Richard’s face had softened, as he watched Till passing his beer between his hands for a while. But he regretted looking at him, when Till suddenly decided to meet his gaze. He had been sensing it for a moment.


The eye contact was brief – too brief for Richard’s liking – and now, Till was on his way out but not before placing his half-full bottle of beer on the narrow table between them. Everyone was quiet, when it happened, the only sound present being Till’s boots across the floor of the tour bus. Richard noticed how their lead singer squeezed his own shoulder on the way out, as the other’s looked at each other, speaking in a low manner, discussing.


Facing the floor, his long bangs flopped in front of his eyes. He wanted to get some air – just for a little while, be alone. The door was open, and when he stepped out, his black boots were almost entirely covered in snow. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with icy air, before he walked slowly along the length of the tour bus, reaching for a cigarette in his pocket. Lightening it, he could see how his hands trembled. On purpose, he hadn’t put on a jacket or a coat to shield his bare arms from the wintry weather. But he wasn’t sure that was the only reason why he was trembling.


After briefly looking down at his boots in the snow, he took a drag and then leaned his back against the bus. The ice-cold metal surface immediately shot through his black T-shirt, sending a wave of chills down his entire body. Well, being frozen could be an alternative for pain just for a little while, he thought. He looked up at the pitch-black sky and felt tiny snowflakes hitting his cheeks. And for a moment, he thought of the face that Richard had shown in there. He didn’t need anyone’s pity. The last thing he wanted right now was Richard following him, joining him outside. And he just knew it was coming.


Within a minute, as predicted, Richard stepped out in the snow. He looked around eagerly, looking for Till, and immediately spotted him at his right. Not hesitating, he made his way over to him. Till just kept looking down, shuffling his one foot in the snow a bit and just smoking his cigarette.


“What are you doing out here?”


This was a typical question for Richard to make, when he could feel that something was up. And Till practically counted to ten in his head to prevent himself from snapping at him with a fancy remark.


“Smoking,” he murmured, still not looking at the guitarist but now just ahead at the building in front of him, as if it was of bigger interest. He took another drag, blowing the smoke.


Richard was aware of Till being stubborn and just plain stuffy at times, and you really shouldn’t mess with it. So he hesitated for a second, but as he noticed Till’s chattering teeth, he remembered what was in his hand. He brought the lead singer’s coat up between them, saying:


“Put this on. You’ll freeze to death.” He himself had put on a leather jacket, and somehow he regretted not putting on something proper.


“’Don’t need it.”


“Come on-“


“I said I don’t need it!” Till’s voice was as cold as the air around them, as he finally looked directly into Richard’s eyes. He knew he shouldn’t take this out on Richard. He couldn’t blame anyone for his misery. And therefor, he quickly looked away from Richard, now heading in opposite direction and throwing the cigarette end in the snow.


“What is it this time?” Raising his voice just a bit, Richard gesticulated his arms in a confused manner, still holding the coat and watching Till shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’re in there, having a good time, and suddenly you just space out. Will you just tell me – just for once – what’s going on?”


The older man didn’t answer. He just stood there, facing the ground with his back towards the guitarist. Not wanting Richard to see the emotions in his eyes, he stayed like that – only running a hand through his hair once.


“Till-“


“Leave it,” Till said, very briefly gazing over his shoulder, before he started walking away, passing the back of the bus, and continued into the darkness.


Richard kind of panicked.


“Come back here! It’s too cold outside!”


“I’m going to the fucking hotel!” Till sounded mad. “Quit telling me what to do!”


With a stunned expression, Richard watched Till turning from his recognizable form to a black silhouette moving along the street towards the hotel. Constantly, he thought of whether or not he should follow him, but he ended up with the conclusion that Till Lindemann was a grown man and could take care of himself – most of the time.


In the dark, Till was pleased by the very early hour. Right now, he should be lucky to meet anyone that could point him out as Till Lindemann, lead singer of Rammstein. The very last thing he wanted right in this moment was someone to recognize him – even to talk to him. He was depressed, and he wanted to get the hell out of there, to a quiet place, where he could be alone.


- -


It was still dark, when the two guitarists, the bass player, the drummer and the keyboardist returned to their mutual big hotel room. There were some tired groans between them, while they walked around, some sitting down on the couch.


Richard knew exactly where he was going. He was going to bed and passed the small hallway.


He saw light coming from the bathroom, the crack beneath the door sending a golden glow across the floor. Wondering, he walked up to it and knocked twice.


“Till,” he called, “are you in there?”


No-one answered. Richard pulled the handle – only to find the door locked. In the same moment, Schneider came running through the room, holding something.


“Richard!”


A little startled, the guitarist turned around, facing the drummer. The other’s attention was immediately drawn to him.


“It’s empty,” Schneider stated, holding up an empty bottle of pain-killers in front of Richard’s face. “’Found it on the kitchen table.”


Richard’s eyes darted around for a brief moment.


“How many were left?” he asked into the room, sounding somewhat calm but showed over-whelming concern.


Paul looked at Flake, who looked at Ollie. Everyone looked senseless.


“How many were left?!”


“Nobody knows, Richard!” Paul defended angrily, eyes almost shooting fire at his fellow guitarist.


“Scheisse,” Richard cursed, returning to the door to the bathroom, banging on it madly. “Till! Open the door, come on!”


The three other members – Schneider already being there – joined him by the door. Paul quickly got onto the floor, anxiously peeking through the crack over the doorframe. But he only saw tiled floor and anything else but the lead singer.


“I don’t see him,” he shook his head while getting to his feet again.


“We’ll have to kick in the door, then!” Flake burst out seriously, looking the door up and down, as if he was looking for a soft spot. But who was he kidding? It was a freaking wooden door – probably of high, unbreakable material! There was only to hope that the hinges were not too strong.


Without hesitation, Richard started kicking furiously on the door. He knew it was to no good, but some higher power drew his body to do it.


“Richard, stop!” Schneider grabbed him by his shoulders, making him calm down just a bit. Richard panted and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling how his lips were pressed into a thin line.



He heard noise, some loud banging sounds, yells – but he couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, or to whom the voices belonged. Being in the feeling of floating, he felt his limbs going numb, and he didn’t even know whether he was awake or asleep. His head was sort of empty – like it had no room for any sense or thought. He couldn’t open his eyes. His eyelids were as heavy as a couple of bricks, as he fought to open them.

And if he had in fact opened them, he would have watched Ollie kicking in the door, which shot off its hinges and fell to the floor. Quickly, Ollie was followed by Schneider, Richard, Paul and at last Flake who rushed into the bathroom.


- -


He couldn’t believe the events that had occurred within the last 12 hours. He wouldn’t believe. They had been too horrible, too emotional, too rushed, too confusing. Now, every time Richard closed his eyes, he saw nothing but Till’s pale face, his blood-covered forearms, his sprawled legs and his still chest. God, Richard remembered how he had felt, when he had realized that Till hadn’t been breathing. He had been dead – dead right in front of all of them.


He almost wanted to throw up at the thought of when they had tried to bring Till back to life, how they had performed CPR on him and nothing had happened. But then the medics had arrived.


And everything had happened so quickly. He didn’t even remember how they had gotten to the hospital. All he remembered was his heart beating so fast that he had thought he was going to pass out – and then flashlights. Flashlights and noise had filled the air – voices who yelled, people pushing. And he remembered how he had hid his face briefly, and how Till’s pale form had been loaded into the ambulance.


Next thing was the ER, where Till had shown that he had been fighting to stay with them, his heart popping in and out of rhythm, stopping – then zapped back into its regular rhythm. They had all been standing by, hoping, praying. So many questions had been asked but left unanswered. People had been speaking all at once, not listening. And Richard recalled tears in his eyes.


Now, he was just sitting in a chair, his chin resting in his hands, as he watched over their lead singer in the hospital bed. He had been sitting like that for a while, just looking at him – watching how his face was pale, dark circles around his eyes, his still body hooked up to machines. One helped Till breathing and another was sorting out all the toxic from his bloodstream. A third one was indicating his heartbeat.


Richard heard shoes shuffling across the floor and looked up to find Ollie walking nervously around at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. The three others were spread around the room. Flake was sitting on the other side of the bed, looking as worried as Richard. Schneider was standing beside the door, looking as if he could take a standing nap. And then there was Paul, who obviously had succumbed to his tiredness, as he was sleeping in a chair in the corner, his head resting against the wall.


Letting out an almost soundless yawn, Richard leaned back in his chair a bit before standing up. He walked to the window and watched light snowflakes sliding across the thick glass. Everything was silent except for the beeping coming from the heart monitor.


“Are you alright, Richard?” Ollie joined the guitarist by the window with a lowered voice.


Richard hesitated for a brief moment, while he looked outside, before murmuring:


“I’ll never forget this.”


The bass player looked down, not sure what to say. They were all deeply affected by the situation.


“I know,” Richard continued, “what kind of things Till does to himself. And until now, I didn’t have a problem with it. But he needs help. Otherwise, there’ll be a time, where they can’t bring him back...” He stopped talking, when he felt tears welling up in his eyes again. Damn those tears. He almost couldn’t hold them back, as they threatened to spill.


This was his fault. If only he had followed Till back to the hotel just as he had thought of, none of this would have happened. He could have kept an eye on the older man, making sure he didn’t harm himself. But he hadn’t. He had stood by and watched him disappear into the dark night. Richard didn’t even want to imagine how he would have felt, if Till had died. He felt sick with guilt.


Swallowing hard, Ollie felt sorry for the guitarist, and he put a comforting hand on his shoulder.


The quiet moment was interrupted by a voice behind them.


“Till?”


It had been Flake’s voice, and Richard and Ollie immediately turned their heads. When the guitarist saw the singer blinking weakly and oddly fumbling with his fingers, he rushed to the bedside, bending slightly over Till’s torso. Flake had got up from his seat and joined Richard as well as the others.


“Till? Can you hear me?” Richard put a gentle hand on the lead singer’s bandaged forearm, but then something unexpected happened.


Blinking a little heavier, obviously trying to make sense of what all this was, Till anxiously withdrew his hands to his chest, staring at all of them with huge eyes while breathing heavily under the oxygen mask. Even though the heart monitor started to beep faster, Richard quickly placed his hand on Till’s shoulder instead of backing away.


“Easy, easy,” he soothed, as he suddenly realized that Flake had put his hand on Till’s other shoulder, trying to calm him down as well.


Richard felt Till trembling and saw the complete anger in his eyes, as he now looked right up at him. It scared Richard. He had never seen that look in the singer’s eyes.


“It’s alright,” Richard continued, still not willing to give up on Till. He petted his shoulder carefully.


Finally being aware of what had happened and who was with him, Till started to calm down slowly. He closed his eyes and fought to tame his breathing and racing heart rhythm.


“That’s right,” Richard soothed and was very relieved to feel the muscles under his palm beginning to relax.


But then the guitarist – and probably the four others as well – saw something else that was unexpected, at least from Till. A silent tear appeared from his eyehook and ran down the side of his face. And this was when the five other band members realized what a state of mind Till was in. For a moment, Richard couldn’t escape the thought that the singer maybe hadn’t even wanted to get back to life, and he kept asking himself why. Honestly, he wanted to run away, run from the problems and the emotions, but he knew that it was to no good. He couldn’t push Till away – never.