Part 19:
You Can't Stop A Speeding Fate Train
Nick held the phone
gripped tightly in his hand, listening carefully to what Sergeant Cox had to
say.
“We haven’t got much time,
Nick. The statistics on kidnappings are
not good. Usually, if the person is not
recovered within twenty-four hours, the likelihood that the victim has been
killed and the body dumped is your best bet. Couple that with the fact that you were shot
and left for dead, and Brian Littrell was killed, well, then Howie Dorough’s
chances of survival at this point are slim to none.”
Sergeant Cox spoke quickly,
stopping every so often to ask Nick if he understood what he was telling him,
to which Nick only answered with a slightly annoyed, “Yes.”
“In most amnesia cases
that involve homicides, we work with the doctors, as well as the patient, to
help them get their memory back. But, in
your case, that is not possible because your mother has declared you off-limits.
She is more concerned about your image
than your friend Howie’s life. Is that
how you feel as well?”
“No, sir.”
“I don’t have time to work
with the system on this, Nick. I don’t
have time to sit back and wait for you to get your fucking memory back.”
“Everybody is saying that
we were doing drugs.” Nick cupped his
hand over the mouthpiece of the phone as he spoke to make sure nobody passing
by would hear him.
“I don’t buy that. Not for a minute. I think there is someone else involved. And I believe that someone else is the one who
shot you, killed Brian as well as Gus Monroe, and kidnapped Howie.”
“Well, what do you want me
to do?” Nick heard voices outside of his
door. Quickly dropping the hand which
held the phone, he dangled the receiver off of the side of the bed and lay back
on the pillow, closing his eyes, until whoever was outside of the door passed
by. Then, dragging the phone back up and
over the side of the bed, he pressed it again to his ear. “Sorry, there was someone outside of my room.”
“Here is what we are going
to do, Nick. I’m going to tell you what
I think happened, and you are going to tell me if any of that rings a bell. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember shopping
with Brian for shoes on Rodeo Drive?”
“Yeah, I remember that, I
guess.”
“Do you remember going out
after you got home from your shopping trip for something to eat?”
“Yeah.” Nick nodded his head, smiling slightly at the
faded image of him begging Brian to take him for beef jerky and Mountain Dew. “We went to some piece of shit gas station
because I wanted something to eat and drink.”
“Do you remember what
happened at the gas station?” Cox pursed his lips together, tapping his pencil
on his forehead with his free hand, hoping for the dam in Nick Carter’s head to
burst.
“No.”
“Do you remember Brian going
inside to get your food?”
“Sometimes.”
“Nick, you were all alone
in the car when Brian went inside. Do
you remember someone getting in the car with you? Maybe someone that was pretending to ask for
directions or spare change, maybe someone with a knife or a gun who wanted your
car?” Cox knew he was going against the rules of interrogation of an amnesia
witness. In court, it would have been
called leading the witness. But at this
point, he didn’t care. The police commissioner
was pushing them to drop the carjacking angle, instead deciding to let Nick
take the blame for everything that had happened based on some stupid idea that
he and his friends were doing drugs.
Nick shook his head,
glancing up at the door as a nurse passed by. “I don’t know, maybe I remember that? Is that what really happened?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know, Nick, is it?”
Sergeant Cox was hoping that what he was
saying would trigger some sort of a memory, no matter how faint, of this
“someone else” he believed was involved.
“Look, I’ll remember whatever
you want me to remember. If you say
there was another guy, I’ll remember another guy. If you say that this guy had red hair, green
eyes, and two heads, I’ll remember him that way. I’m not going to fucking fry for this whole
thing just because I’m the only one who is alive.”
“Look,” Cox continued, not
missing a beat, “it isn’t going to do anybody any good if you remember things
that aren’t true. What I’m trying to do
is plant the seed, Nick. You are the one
who is going to have to make it grow.”
Nick nodded, tapping the
receiver lightly against the side of his face.
“Okay, Sergeant Cox, so what if there was some other guy involved?”
“If I’m right, and there
is another guy involved, we have to catch the bastard before he comes back to
finish off what he started. It is
obvious that you were not supposed to live, Nick, not when you were left
bleeding to death on that warehouse floor, and not now. With the way this story has been covered in
the press, this guy is well aware of who you are and that you are very much
alive, making Howie’s chances for getting out of this with his life almost
zero, which is why we need to work fast.”
“So I’ll tell my Mom that
I want the police back on the case. I’ll
tell her that I want your guys on my door instead of those morons that are out
there now. I’ll tell-”
“My officers and I were
banned from talking with you, Nick, until further notice from the hospital and
your legal counsel. Your Mom can’t know
that we have spoken, Nick, and your lawyer can’t know that we have spoken. If you are going to protect yourself, you are
going to have to figure out how to do it on your own. And we just have to hope to hell in the
meantime you come up with the information we are looking for.”
“So that’s it, then? You are just going to leave me to twist in
the fucking wind with a madman on the loose?” Nick fought his urges to throw the phone
across the room, instead hoping for some sort of comforting words from the man
on the other end of the receiver.
“Yup,” Sergeant Cox said
flatly.
“Yup?” Nick repeated in an
exasperated tone.
“I’ll do everything I can
on my end, Nick.”
“And what the fuck am I
supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Get your memory back, and
try and stay alive.”
***
Howie struggled for air,
but was finding it more and more difficult to keep his mind clear and focus on
breathing when all he wanted to do was to just fall into a deep sleep. The second piece of duct tape that Mo had
stripped off and placed on his mouth was too tight, some of it covering the
lower half of his nostrils. He knew that
was probably the whole point, a slow, miserable death as opposed to a bullet to
the brain or the duct tape wound tightly around his whole God damned head so
that he would just black out from lack of oxygen and die.
Strange visions began to
fill his brain, and at one point, he swore that the dead man’s body beneath him
twitched, making him wonder how long his own body would twitch after he
suffocated to death in the closet. Two
hours, four hours, maybe a week? Was
there a record for how long a body twitched after you were dead?
And then, suddenly, he
found himself thinking about his life and wondering if he would be in the
situation he was in now if he were just plain old Howard Dorough, instead of
Backstreet Boy Howie Dorough.
His grandmother used to
say, “You can’t stop a speeding fate train.” Everybody thought she was clever for the play
on words. Howie just thought that she
was just tongue tied and meant to say 'freight' instead of 'fate.' But now he wasn’t so sure.
Was your fate your fate no
matter what, or did the life you lead dictate your fate? Would he have still known Brian, A.J., Kevin,
and Nick if he hadn’t bumped into A.J. all of those years ago at various local
Florida auditions? Would they all have
been college buddies, or worked together at a restaurant, or been lawyers
employed at the same firm? Were their lives destined to be intertwined? Instead of being in a chauffeur-driven town
car looking for Nick that fateful evening, would Howie have been sputtering
along that deserted road in a Honda Accord trying to help his friend?
Was all of this destined
to be his fate?
If it was, then there was
nothing he could do to stop it. So,
closing his eyes, he decided to just give in and let fate take him where it may.
***
Kevin sat on the balcony
of his hotel room, drinking beer and watching the haze burn off over the city. He had decided not to go looking for Howie
today with the Dorough family, instead opting to just sit in his hotel room,
get drunk, and throw bread at the seagulls that circled overhead.
He knew that Kristin was
disgusted with his behavior, and he didn’t really care. She begged him to deal with the overwhelming
feelings he was having. Pissing her off
even more when he chose to laugh at her use of the phrase “overwhelming
feelings,” mocking the words until she threw an empty beer bottle at him in
disgust, missing his head by mere inches.
“Getting drunk isn’t going
to bring your cousin back!” she shouted at him.
“I’m not drinking to bring
my cousin back,” he slurred, watching the long neck bottle spin around on the
floor, surprised that it had not broken when it hit the wall.
“Then why are you drinking,
Kevin?”
“ To get drunk.” He annunciated each word like she was a small
child who couldn’t understand the simplest of words, which made her scream at
the top of her lungs and shake her fists at him.
“You need some
professional help, Kevin.”
“No, what I need is
another beer, Kristin.”
“You’re a fool, Kevin. A damn fool,” was the last thing she said
before storming out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind her.
***
Nick lay there with the
phone in his hand long after he had hung up with Sergeant Cox, going over the
scenario laid out before him by the man and trying to make it work with the
memories he had in his head. He kept
getting to the part where Brian went inside of the gas station…
“Okay, I am going in there alone, and I am going to
get you Mountain Dew and beef jerky. If
they don’t have Mountain Dew and beef jerky, then I am getting you Coke and
Twinkies. If they don’t have Coke and
Twinkies, then I am getting you freaking root beer and a ham sandwich. Whatever I bring out of there, you will drink
it and eat it, and you will shut the hell up and like it, do you understand?”
“You betcha, buddy. I read you loud and clear.”
And then his mind coasted
off track, blacking out everything up to the moment he woke up screaming
Brian’s name in the hospital.
“Hey!” he shouted, leaning
over to drop the phone receiver back in its cradle. “I said, HEY!” he shouted again, a little
louder, until the door to his room opened and one of the security guards poked
his head inside.
“Yeah?” The guy looked annoyed at the mere site of
Nick.
“Can you come in here for
a second?” Nick motioned the guard into
the room with one of his sweetest smiles.
“What for?”
“Just come in. I’m bored, and I want somebody to talk to.”
“I’m the only guard on
duty right now, and I can’t leave the door.”
“Aw, c’mon. Just for a minute.” Nick watched the guy look up and down the hallway
before he pushed the door open a little further.
“Okay, but just for a
minute.”
***
