Part 14:
The World Just Kept On Turning
Nick Carter was in a coma,
and the world just kept on turning without him.
***
Officers Park and Martin,
as well as Sergeant Cox and the detectives, remained on the case,
re-interviewing witnesses and hoping for a break that would solve this never-ending
riddle.
Howie’s family set up camp
in Los Angeles, canvassing neighborhoods and businesses in the area where Howie
had been last reported being seen, as tips continued to pour in from all over
the country from over zealous do-gooders, wanting to believe that they had seen
him. But so far, none of the leads had
panned out.
Meanwhile, Brian’s family
made the decision to fly his body back to Kentucky, where they held a private
funeral and burial for him attended only by family and a few close friends.
Brian was buried in a
grand, mahogany coffin with pale blue, satin lining the color of his eyes and
laid to rest beneath a large, bending shade tree that was dotted with fresh,
fragrant, white blooms that would rain down over him like snow when the wind
blew just right.
As the coffin was lowered
slowly into the ground, everybody just stood there silently, unsure of what to
do next, because it just didn’t seem right to leave Brian there alone.
Finally, it was Kevin who
made the break. His hands jammed in the
pockets of his wrinkled dark blue suit, he pulled away from Kristen’s
comforting embrace and walked slowly down the hillside, away from Brian’s grave,
never looking back.
***
The day after the funeral,
Leighanne, along with Kevin and A.J., returned to Los Angeles to support Nick’s
family in their round-the-clock bedside vigils at the hospital, as well as to
help Howie’s family with the search.
Family and friends took
shifts at Nick’s bedside, talking to him, singing to him, or just being there
for him, in an effort to help him wake up from the coma that had taken over his
body.
After a few days of
getting into the routine of visiting with Nick, A.J. found it odd that Kevin
was managing to stay away from the hospital as much as possible, instead opting
to spend time with Howie’s family or at the police station, asking questions
about the case.
Finally, one afternoon,
the two friends had it out.
“What the fuck is your
problem, Kev?” A.J. yelled after Kevin, as he bolted out the door of Nick’s
hospital room five minutes after his arrival.
“You said you would take the two o'clock to five o’clock shift with him.” A.J. had purposely stuck around after his
shift to see if Kevin would actually stay with Nick like he had promised.
“Wha, are you spying on me
now, A.J. ?” Kevin said, picking up his pace down the hospital corridor.
“Get your ass back in
there, Kevin! I’m serious!” Walking on Kevin’s heels, yelling at him, A.J.
was oblivious to the stares and whispers of the hospital staff all around him.
“Shut up, A.J., you’re
making a scene,” Kevin hissed pushing an arm back to shove A.J. away from him.
“You were in there for
like five minutes, five lousy minutes. You know the doctors said that we all needed
to talk to him, play him music, anything that might get him out of that coma.”
“I’m well aware of what
the doctors said, but I got better things to do with my time than try and get
that kid out of a coma.” Kevin’s voice
was hard, his words biting.
Grabbing him by the arm, A.J.
spun Kevin around, pushing him up against the wall. “What the hell is your problem, Kevin?” he
yelled, pushing his face into Kevin’s face, determined not to back down.
“You wanna know what my
problem is?” Kevin seethed, his eyes narrowing into hateful slits. “My problem is that I’m struggling here, A.J.”
“Oh, we’re all fucking
struggling, Kevin. Do you think that
this has been easy on any of us? What
the hell makes you so damn special that you think you have it worse then
anybody else?”
Kevin shoved his hands
into A.J. ’s chest, pushing him hard and knocking A.J. to the floor.
“You want to know why I’m
struggling, A.J. ?” Kevin stood over A.J.,
hand cocked, ready to fight if the need arose.
“I’m struggling over the fact that that dumb kid is lying in that
hospital bed, alive, while my cousin is buried six feet under the ground!” Kevin was yelling, his shoulders tensed, veins
bulging in his forehead, as he continued, “I’m struggling because, despite the
fact that I want to remember Brian as a healthy, happy kid with a big smile and
an even bigger love of life, all I can see is him cold and dead, lying on the
table with a hole in his heart!”
A.J. looked up at Kevin,
his eyes clouding with sudden understanding.
“I’m struggling, A.J.” Kevin’s voice caught as he blinked back tears.
“I’m struggling because I wish that Nick
was the one that died instead of Brian… and I know that isn’t the right way to
feel.”
Dropping his hand, Kevin
leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
“I wish Nick was dead, A.J. I wish he was dead… so please don’t tell me
that I need to help him come out of his coma, because I just can’t do it.”
***
The doctors couldn’t say
how long Nick would be in a coma. They
had predicted it could last anywhere from two months to twenty years, so it
came as a shock to everybody when, seven days after the violent shooting, Nick
Carter opened his eyes.
It was Aaron’s turn to
keep Nick company. He had been talking
nonstop for hours about the dumbest things. He talked about girls, comic books, X-Box
games, and Yu-Gi-Oh. He laughed
about stupid things the two of them had done as kids, and he told Nick how much
he wished that they had spent more time together over the years, without the
constant interruptions of their careers.
At some point during the
one-sided conversation, Aaron had drifted off to sleep, slumped low in the hard
plastic chair, a hand lightly covering Nick’s hand, as the monitors hummed and
beeped all around them.
At first, the words were
nothing more than a mumble, something Aaron thought he had dreamed. “We… look cool…”
“Hmmm,” Aaron mumbled,
lost in a dream that involved him hooking up with two hot girls from Sweden.
“I was just… having some
fun.” The words spilled from Nick’s
mouth in slow motion. “One pair… was… for
you.”
“Shut up, Nick, I’m in the
middle of a cool dream.” Aaron shifted
in his seat, eyes still closed, thinking that he was tucked away in bed at home,
Nick talking in the bunk above him as he tried to sleep.
“I… want some beef jerky… and
a Mountain Dew.” Nick’s hand twitched
beneath Aaron’s as the words Nick spoke became clearer. Aaron’s eyes snapped open, as realization
slowly sunk in.
“I want beef jerky and
some… Mountain Dew,” Nick repeated in a raspy voice. Wide-eyed, he pulled his hand from beneath
his brother’s trembling hand as the machines began to go wild.
“Nick? Nick, who are you talking to?” Aaron asked,
standing up quickly, his chair tipping over as he tripped over it, trying to
get to the door.
“You’re… not… Brian,” Nick
said. His eyes were closed, his body
jerking slightly, as his brows tipped inward with concern.
“You’re… not… Brian.” He repeated the words again and again, his
eyes suddenly flashing open.
“YOU’RE NOT BRIAN.”
Aaron’s heart shot into
his throat as he spun on his heel and ran for the door, screaming, “Somebody
come quick! My brother is awake!”
***
Just as Nick Carter was
opening his eyes for the first time in seven days, Howie Dorough was
struggling, bound and gagged in the closet of a second-story bedroom in an
abandoned house in hell. Not literally Hell.
No, the real Hell would have been a lot
warmer then the place where Howie now was stashed, but it seemed to him like it
had to be pretty close.
Beating his feet, which
were tethered from his ankles to his knees, furiously against the door, Howie
screamed into the gag, the sound echoing around in his mouth, before bouncing
back down his throat. He still didn’t
understand much about what had put him in the situation he was now in, but he
knew it revolved around Nick and that Nick was still alive. But, according to Mo, not for long.
Mo went on day after day
about Nick, angry that he hadn’t finished the job in the first place and just
shot him between the eyes. He would sit
across from Howie every afternoon, laying out a greasy hamburger and fries for
Howie to eat while he talked about ways to kill Nick and make it look like an
accident. Since their return to the city,
Mo had made numerous trips to the hospital to try and get the job done, but the
security was tight, and extra guards had been posted on Nick at the request of
his family. So finally, Mo decided the
only thing to do was to wait. Wait until
the story died down or until Nick awoke and stirred things up again with his
memories of the fateful evening. Only
then would everybody’s attention turn in the opposite direction, leaving Nick
wide open for Mo’s attack.
So now they waited.
Why Mo didn’t just kill
Howie and get it over with, Howie was unsure. At this point, death seemed a welcome option, compared
to the hell and torture of being locked in a dark closet day in and day out,
bound and gagged, with nothing to do but slowly lose his mind.
Lying limp on the closet
floor, Howie thought about screaming again, but finally came to the conclusion
that it was no use. There was nobody
around to hear his cries, even if the sounds could make it past the gag.
If he was going to live,
he would have to find another way to break free, and he would have to figure it
out on his own before he eventually rotted away and died.
***
It was early evening, and
Mo was sitting in the back of the bowling alley as he had been every evening
for the last seven days, watching with great interest the news playing on the TV
overhead.
Throwing back another beer,
he smiled as the reporter recounted the tragic tale of the Backstreet Boys’
three members who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Damn straight, they were,”
a fat guy in a tank top at the next table mumbled as he dug into the bowl in
front of him, pulling back a fistful of peanuts. “Dumb fucking rich kids.”
“You said it,” Mo shot
back, signaling the waitress for another beer.
“Stupid kids got what they
deserved. They had no business in that
part of town.” The fat guy tried to
focus on Mo through blurry, red-rimmed eyes.
“Yeah, you know, that guy
should have done the world a favor and killed them all,” Mo said.
The guy laughed, turning
his attention back on the news, as the words UPDATE flashed across the screen.
“It seems there is a
bit of good news today involving Backstreet Boy Nick Carter. It has been reported that, earlier today, he
awoke from his coma. Whether or not he
has spoken to police or detectives about the case remains to be seen, but we will
keep you informed on this interesting story as it develops.”
Leaning back in his chair,
a slow smile spread across Mo’s face.
Ho, ho, ho, St. Nick was
awake.
***
