“Kevin came
back into the recording studio with news that the sound check was cancelled.
Our manager and supervisors were beside themselves with fury, but they couldn’t
find a sympathetic or agreeable sparkle in any of our eyes. Luckily we were big
enough that we could use our power to our own advantage. We didn’t have to do a
damn thing we didn’t want to. And with Kevin against them, they had no chance
of swaying us back to work. No chance at all.
I went out into the hallway to find Howie. I was relieved
and surprised that Kevin would allow us to take the rest of the day off. It
just was completely unlike Kevin’s usual tactics. In my earlier prediction when
Kevin left the studio, I had expected him to come back dragging Howie back into
the studio by the neck. However, Kevin had come back and said calmly that Howie
wasn’t up to finishing the sound check, but assured them that we’d resume the
next day where we left off.
It was a statement that made no sense to any of us,
especially coming from Kevin. I mean absolutely no offense to the man, but
Kevin isn’t exactly known for being the Angel of Mercy. In fact, he reminds me
more of one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse sometimes. The whole tall,
dark, and murderous look he’s got going for him whenever Nick pulls a prank on
him kind of moves you to that opinion. I’m dismissing it as a temporary – maybe
even drunken – event where Kevin felt the need to give the rest of us a break.
Like I said, he was probably drunk.
I was exceptionally angry with the sound check personnel.
They had no right – no right –
whatsoever to say that to Howie. Once I found him, I’d personally make sure the
man who said that to him was fired. My cousin needs a job anyway…
I found Howie leaning against the janitor’s locked door,
his hands around his throat. His face pale and drawn, his eyes wide and
terrified... He looked so petrified that for a moment I thought he had had a
heart attack. When he heard me coming, his head snapped towards me. And when
his eyes met mine, I was filled with a panic I still haven’t let sink in.”
~From the journal of A.J. McLean
“What’s wrong?” A.J. asked
immediately, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Howie’s wrists and
tried futilely to pull his hands away from his friend’s throat. With an
undecipherable fear, A.J. thought Howie was hurt, or maybe he couldn’t breathe.
However, seeing Howie take in a shaky breath, A.J. couldn’t help but wonder
what could be wrong with him?
Howie’s eyes were pained. He opened his mouth
to speak, but not a sound emanated from his throat. Even the attempt made his
throat burn with an intensity that felt as though someone had lit flame to his
chest. His eyes were already beginning to water and sting with painstaking
tears. He dimly felt A.J.’s hands close around his shoulders, but not much more
was clear. The pain blinded him, and he was aware of little more than the pain.
All he could hear was an echoing continuous scream of pain shattering the usual
tranquility of his mental state. Through every passing moment, it felt like he
was swallowing red-hot coals.
“Howie! Howie! C’mon man,
tell me what’s wrong,” A.J., cried, grasping his friend’s shoulders in
desperate concern. He watched Howie’s eyes glaze over, realizing Howie couldn’t
answer. He was obviously in pain, but why?
He knew he didn’t have time to
question why, so instead, he called the first person that came to mind.
“KEVIN!”
<~*~>
“The
hospital.
We were at the hospital.
I can’t tell you how scared I
was, sitting there in the waiting room. There were so many times I thought the
doctor was coming in to tell us something about Howie, when in reality it was a
different doctor with news for another person or persons.
The four of us sat in tense
silence waiting with little patience for some word on Howie’s condition.
Nick was staring at the main
desk, where a clock hung behind the two employees. Two hours and counting. I
shared his thoughts. How long could this take, whatever “this” could be?
Brian sat beside him, his
forehead leaning into his palms, his elbows resting against his thighs. He had
been crying before, on the way to the hospital. Now he was trying to hide it.
He was scared. We all were.
Kevin refused to sit. He stood
leaning against the back wall, somewhat encased in a shadow cast by a bookshelf
above him holding trays of magazines. His eyes were focused on the doorway.
Whenever a doctor came near the waiting room doors, his muscles would tense,
then relax when the doctor had news for another family, another group of
friends.
By now the other occupants of
the waiting room realized whom they were waiting with. An eleven-year-old girl
continued to cast shy glances at us, but luckily, she was smart enough to know
we weren’t there to sign autographs.
I was sitting near the corner
of the room, watching the passersby with a seemingly uninterested expression.
In truth, I envied every person who exited the building with a smile or a saved
friend. Where was mine? I wanted some word on Howie, good or bad. At that point
I didn’t care. I just wanted to know he was being taken care of. Then I could
relax…somewhat. Because I felt responsible for him for some reason, don’t ask
me why. His safety was most important to me at that point. I didn’t want him
waiting somewhere. I wanted him to be helped, and now.
There are no words to describe
how unbelievably relieved I felt when I saw Howie’s doctor walk through the
doorframe with news.”
~From the journal of A.J. McLean
The doctor
called the four boys into the hallway, casting short glances at the other
people situated around the waiting room. Three of the boys that had seated
themselves leapt to their feet with hopeful and wide-eyed expressions. The one
standing moved from the shadows with a lightning-fast pace to the doorway. The
waiting people all watched the four boys and their doctor walk into the hallway
with resentful eyes.
One look in the doctor’s eyes and
A.J. knew the news wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear. He braced himself
mentally, but knew that emotionally, he would never be protected from any truth
that involved harm to his best friend’s life or health.
“What…” someone said hoarsely.
A.J. turned his eyes to Brian, who swallowed and cleared his throat before
speaking again in a clearer tone. “What’s going on? Where–”
“Is he all right?” A.J. interrupted.
He didn’t care where he was or what was wrong with him. Those were secondary
concerns. Right now, all that mattered was the immediate question. Was Howie
okay?
The doctor’s expression revealed
no secrets, and for that, A.J. could have killed him. He paused and collected
his words, trying to find the softest way to break the bad news to them.
Looking in their young eyes, he felt a stab of guilt and pity wash over him. In
a moment, their four pairs of eyes would be torn with pain and worry. He hated
to be the bearer of bad news, but he had chosen the medical profession… He knew
from the beginning he would make great achievements and would be powerless to
stop vast catastrophes. It never occurred to him that he would have to report
his failures to the victim’s friends.
“Boys, I’m not sure how to say
this,” he began, watching as their eyes began to widen and cloud with pain.
“But your friend’s vocal cords are deteriorating.”
One of them gasped in shock.
Another blinked in disbelief. The tattooed one backed into the wall beside
doorframe, shaking his head. The tall raven-haired one swallowed hard, covering
his mouth with his fist. The one that gasped tried to argue.
“B-but he can’t lose his
voice!” he protested in an uneven voice. “He…he can’t!”
The doctor sighed. His heart was
strained for these four young men, for they had not yet heard the worst part of
the bad news. Already he knew they would be unable to take it.
“His vocal cords are being eaten
away by a substance we have not yet been able to determine,” the doctor said,
watching their reactions carefully. “Unfortunately, you got him here a moment
too late. The substance is spreading to his vital organs… We’re trying to stop
it before it reaches his heart or lungs…” All four were staring at him in utter
shock. He scratched his head with a resigned sigh. “But in all seriousness,
boys, there is little chance he’ll live through the night.”