Chapter 7 - Battle begins Anew
“This just in, ladies and gentlemen,” Carson Daly said, looking at the news report he’d just been handed. “It’s been confirmed that the Backstreet Boys have been located and rescued. They had been held in the basement of a mansion in British Columbia. FBI agents located them after solving the riddle the kidnappers left. When they arrived, they found the Boys injured and malnourished. They’ve all been brought to a nearby hospital. Unconfirmed reports say that the injuries of the Boys seem to indicate that they’ve been tortured -- tortured?! -- for the past three weeks.” Carson looked back up at the camera and his confused and bewildered audience. “That’s, uh, all we have right now. We’ll be bringing you more information on the Backstreet boys as this story develops.” Even the unflappable Carson Daly looked vaguely disturbed by the news report he’d just read. “And, uh, now back to the countdown . . .”
~~~
Brian smiled to himself. He was dreaming again. He could hear his mother’s voice drifting through the haze. She was telling him that he was safe. Right. She was telling him the others were all right. Sure. She was telling him it was over.
“Mom,” he murmured, his throat dry and scratchy. If only it was real. If only the pain was gone . . .
The pain was gone. Or at least, sufficiently dulled.
Am I dreaming? Brian wondered. Maybe I’m dying . . .
“Brian, wake up, honey . . .”
His mother’s voice was getting louder.
His back . . . he wasn’t lying on concrete anymore. He was definitely lying on something soft. Brian struggled to pull his mind to the edge of consciousness.
“Mom?”
“I’m here, Brian.”
She answered, Brian realized. I’m not dreaming . . .
He forced his eyes to open, then immediately closed them to the bright light.
“Brian!” his mother sobbed, holding his hand.
“Mom?” he asked again, still not believing it. “Am I dreaming?”
He heard someone close the curtains as his mother assured him, “No, honey, you’re not dreaming. It’s really over.”
Brian cautiously opened his eyes again. His mother was leaning over him apprehensively, tears streaming down her face.
“Where are the others?” he asked immediately.
“They’re being taken care of,” she soothed. “They’re all right.”
“Nicky?”
She hesitated.
Brian tried to push himself up onto his elbows. “Is Nicky all right?!”
Jackie Littrell looked uncomfortably at the other Mrs. Littrell.
“He’s sick, baby,” Leighanne finally answered. “We just have to pray he’ll get better.” She walked over to him and sat on the other side of the bed. “We were starting to think we’d never see you again.”
Brian reached out and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it sweetly. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, either.”
Leighanne began to cry, running her finger gingerly over his bandaged arm. “Just look at what they did to you . . .”
Brian looked over at his mother. “Will it heal?”
“They’re not sure,” she answered. “But you’re going to be all right.”
“How long were we gone? The days just ran together after a while,” Brian said.
“About three weeks,” Leighanne replied.
Brian shuddered. “Seemed longer than that.”
“Did they . . . torture you that whole time?” Jackie managed to ask.
Brian nodded, trying not to remember it. “Almost every day. They’d burn me, heal me, put chemicals on them to make it hurt more, then less . . . they didn’t just torture me. They messed with my mind, too. The unpredictable pattern was psychological hell.” Brian couldn’t believe how calm he sounded as his mother and wife stifled their sobs. “Did they find the people who did this?”
“No,” Leighanne answered as gently as she could. “I don’t know how they found out the FBI were coming, but everyone was cleared out of the house before they got there.”
Brian closed his eyes. “So, we’ll never get to ask them why. That’s their final torture for us.”
~~~
Paula Dorough and her eldest son barreled into the hospital at full speed.
“Howie Dorough,” John said breathlessly to the woman behind the desk.
“Room 243,” the woman answered, pointing.
The two Doroughs raced over to the room and yanked the door open.
Howie was awake, sitting up in bed, looking a little confused.
Paula and John immediately glomped [sorry, Kimura word, meaning to hug very bodily and forcefully] him, told him how worried they’d been, how glad they were that everyone was safe, and how wonderfully helpful the police, FBI, and fans were.
“So, they made you solve a riddle to find us?” Howie asked as they explained everything.
“It was impossible,” John told him. “It was a multi-layered riddle. Solving one piece only led you to another. I don’t know how they worked it out in the end. The fans were a big help.”
Howie smiled. “I told you we have the best fans in the world. Now they’re responsible for saving out lives.”
“Look at your arms!” Paula cried, looking at the crook of her son’s elbow.
John frowned. “What’d they do to you?”
Howie’s smile faded. “They did different stuff to each of us. As for me, they injected me with every drug under the sun.” He looked up at his mother. “Is there anything permanent wrong with me?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “We’ll have to ask the doctor. We just got here.”
“Are the other guys all right?” Howie asked.
“Last we heard, everyone’s all right except Nick,” John replied.
Howie blanched. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Pneumonia or something like that,” his brother told him. “Hopefully, he’ll be all right once they get some medicine into him.”
“I can’t believe those bastards left him sick like that . . .” Howie whispered.
Paula took her son’s hand. “He’ll be all right. We’ve gotten this far.”
Howie sighed, trying not to think about the ordeal he’d just been through. “I think we’ve got a long way to go.”
~~~
Kristin Richardson burst into tears the second she saw her husband. She nearly backed out of the hospital room, but gathered her strength and approached the bed.
“I’m okay, baby, I’m okay,” Kevin was repeating over and over. “Really, it doesn’t hurt much.”
She hugged him tightly, just glad to hold him once again. “We were so worried,” she managed to blurt out. “We thought they might kill you.”
“Some days I thought that too.”
“Your family’s on their way.”
“By the way . . . where are we?”
“Canada.”
Kevin pulled away. “Canada?! How did we get to Canada?!”
Kristin just shook her head. “Look at what they did to you . . .” She tried to imagine how all of his bruises and cuts were going to heal.
“I’ll be all right,” Kevin assured her.
“Did you hear about the others?” she asked.
Kevin nodded. “The doctor told me.”
“Kevin, we had no idea they were doing this to you . . . you could’ve been killed . . .” his wife sobbed.
“But I wasn’t,” Kevin said, stroking her hair.
Kristin hugged him again. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”
“You won’t lose me, baby. Not now. I’m okay,” he soothed. “We’re all gonna be okay.”
~~~
“Are you Mrs. McLean?” Dr. Henderson asked.
“Yes, I am,” Denise answered. “Is Alex all right?”
“He’s stable right now,” the doctor said, leading her towards her son’s room. “He has lacerations all over his body, except for his face. Very fortunately, none of them are infected. Considering the condition of Mr. Carter, that’s a near miracle. However, I think there’s something you need to be aware of.”
“What’s that?”
“When the agents found your son, he had a bloody knife in his hand,” Dr. Henderson said slowly, trying to keep eye contact with her. “Mrs. McLean, we believe a large percentage of your son’s wounds are . . . self inflicted.”
Mrs. McLean gasped, leaning on the wall for support. “That can’t be true . . . why would he do that?! The others were all tortured horribly!”
“We’re not sure, Mrs. McLean. But the angles of the cuts seem to suggest it. All five of them are going to need counseling after this, so hopefully whatever issues AJ has will be resolved then.”
Mrs. McLean nodded dumbly. As an afterthought she asked, “Was he trying to kill himself?”
“No,” Dr. Henderson answered. “He wasn’t aiming for any vital organs or arteries.”
Denise nodded and took deep breaths to gather herself before entering her son’s room.
~~~