A.J. was onstage singing and dancing to "That’s the Way I Like It," throwing his all into the performance as usual when he heard someone calling his name. It was a low haunting whisper. He didn’t understand why he could hear it over the screams of the 20,000-plus girls.
"Alex. I’m here, Alex. Play my song for me." The voice repeated over and over. "Alex. I’m here, Alex. Play my song for me."
"Your song?" He found himself finally answering.
"My song. Play my song for me, Alex."
He couldn’t understand the request. "Tell me what song."
"My song. Play my song for me, Alex."
A.J. failed to determine from which direction the request originated. The voice seemed to surround him, attacking his senses from all sides. He could no longer perform instead pinning his focus on the voice, the request. The person?
"My song. Play my song for me, Alex."
"Please tell me what song," he begged.
"My song. Play my song for me, Alex."
The voice overtook his body and soul. Nothing else existed. He couldn’t fight it any longer. His pleas became louder, more insistent. "Please, please tell me." Finally, he screamed. "WHAT SONG?"
A.J. was jolted awake. He sat up trying to regulate his labored breathing. His body was slick with sweat. The sheets were tangled around his limbs as if he had been fighting them.
"Shit," he swore. He had never been one to have nightmares. But this wasn’t the type he’d been accustomed to. This seemed so real. The song. What song? Who did that voice belong to?
"Great," he muttered. "Among other things, I am now
certifiably crazy."
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