Chapter 8 - Completely Incomplete
A/N:Yes, I know I stole the chapter title from Lifehouse. But I'm crediting them, so it's okay. ^_^
“Aaron, are you sure you want to see him?” Jane asked her son as they drove up to the hospital.
“Yes,” Aaron answered resolutely. “I’m coming.”
The car stopped and the driver opened the door for his passengers. Two agents greeted them and led them through the mob of reporters and cameras.
“Where is he?” Jane asked once they were inside.
“Take the elevator up to the third floor and ask for him at the desk,” one of the agents told her.
The two Carters nodded and called an elevator.
“Mom,” Aaron said timidly. “What if he died while we were coming?”
“He’s fine,” Jane said confidently. “A mother just knows these things.”
Aaron nodded, hoping she wasn’t just trying to keep him quiet. They reached the third floor and headed to the desk.
“Nick Carter,” Aaron said, ready to leap over the desk in order to find his brother.
“He’s just down the hall in 347,” the nurse answered. “A doctor will be with you shortly.”
“Has he been upgraded from critical yet?” Jane asked as Aaron ran down the hall.
“Not yet, ma’am,” the nurse answered. “But the antibiotics should start working soon.”
Jane nodded and followed Aaron down the hall.
Her younger son was standing in the doorway, staring at his brother’s ash white face and raspy breathing. A second later, he collapsed to the floor.
“Aaron!!”
~~~
The next day . . .
Aaron poked his head into Brian’s room.
“Hey,” Brian said cheerfully. “C’mon in. My mom and Leighanne are out to lunch.”
Aaron entered the room shyly. “You okay?”
“Can’t complain,” Brian answered. His smile faded. “How’s your brother?”
“The doctors say he’s responding to the medicine,” Aaron said.
“Thank God,” Brian said.
“Yeah. They say if he keeps getting better, they’ll move him out of intensive care.”
“Has he woken up yet?”
Aaron looked at the floor. “No.”
“Don’t worry, kid, he will. Are you all right? I heard you took a fall yesterday.”
Aaron blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just . . . it was scary seein’ him like that . . . all hooked up to machines and stuff.”
“Don’t be embarrassed about it; that’s natural. Have you seen the others?”
Aaron nodded. “Just thought I’d say hi to everyone.”
“How are they all doing?”
“Howie’s fine. Kevin’s good. AJ’s . . . quiet. It’s weird. Those cuts all over him are kinda scary.”
Brian looked out the window. “Yeah, I guess none of us look too pretty right now.”
“Your fans still love you,” Aaron said, smiling slightly. “They’re with you all the way.”
Brian returned the smile. “Yeah, I know. We might not even be alive if it wasn’t for them.”
Aaron sat on his bed, hoping a nurse wouldn’t come in to shoo him away. “Do you know anything about the people who did this?”
Brian shook his head. “The FBI have questioned us all a million times. But we can’t really remember anything except the one guy that came and got us every morning. I wish I could.”
Aaron shifted nervously. “Were you scared?”
“Every minute of every day,” the Southerner answered without hesitation. “I was scared what they would do to me. But I was more afraid of losing one of the others. I had no idea what they were doing to them once they separated us. Sometimes --” Brian cut off, realizing he was talking to a thirteen-year-old. He forced a smile. “But we got through it.”
“Don’t do that,” Aaron said, his face angry. “Don’t sugar-coat it for me. I wanna know what happened. I wanna know what they did to my brother.”
Brian shook his head, his warm voice dropping almost to a whisper. “No, Aaron. You don’t want to know. You don’t wanna know what people are capable of. It’s enough for you to see the results.”
~~~
Howie should have been happy. He was going to be released from the hospital in a couple days, once his strength had fully returned. The drugs he’d been injected with had no lasting effects. There were only traces of them left in his system. And his arms were healing nicely. He should have been happy that soon he was going to be with his family.
But he wasn’t.
Because his Backstreet brothers were all still suffering.
Brian’s burns, he’d heard, were going to take a very long time to heal. And he would be left with scars on his forearms and thighs. Kevin would be scarred, too. His handsome face would be marked with a few cuts and his back would be left with permanent welts. It was hard to tell which of AJ’s cuts would heal and which would not. Nick would probably make a full recovery . . . if he ever regained consciousness.
Suddenly Howie understood why AJ had wanted to hurt himself, why he’d been so angry at his captors for not touching him. He wanted to hurt like his brothers and like their families.
It’s just not fair, he thought, resting his forehead against the edge of Nick’s bed. It’s not fair that I recovered so quickly and got off so easily.
He wanted to talk to AJ about how he felt, but AJ had been remarkably quiet. One look at his face told Howie he couldn’t handle anyone else’s problems right now. He’d told Brian and gotten the reaction he’d expected: Brian told him not to worry about them, to be happy that he was all right.
That was exactly what he’d said to AJ, what Howie himself had tried to tell AJ.
And now I want to hurt myself, like he did, Howie realized. Now I just want the score to be even because I did nothing to deserve a lighter sentence.
Brian had tried to tell him that this was part of God’s plan for him; he was strong, so he could help the others. That sounded so good when he had said it. But it was impossible to believe and put into action.
Howie looked up at Nick. The youngest BSB was looking better than he had in days. The medicine was starting to fight off the infection. He’d overheard one of the agents say that if they’d been a couple days later, Nick might very well have died.
Would they have stopped it? Howie wondered. They never actually tried to kill any of us. Would they have helped Nick if he was going to die? Howie put his head back down. There was no way he’d ever know. And there was no way any of them could get even with their captors.
“You all right?” a voice asked from the doorway.
Howie looked up to see Brian in a wheelchair. “Hey. I didn’t know you could get up yet.”
Brian smiled ruefully. “I’m not really supposed to be up and about. But I made them let me.” His smile faded as he looked past Howie to his friend lying in bed. “I wanted to see him. How is he?”
“He looks a lot better,” Howie said as Brian wheeled himself in. “The drugs are starting to work. Where’s his family?”
“They’re in the cafeteria, I think.”
“How’s Aaron doing?”
“Really well, considering.” Brian stopped next to the bed, looking at Nick sadly. “Some nights . . . I could hear him crying or screaming. His voice was so raw . . . it must have hurt so much to talk. But he kept calling out, to God, to me, to his mom, anyone. He was . . . so scared. I mean, there were nights we all cried out because of how they were torturing us, but . . .”
“I know,” Howie said, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Hearing him hurt the most.”
“He’s the youngest,” Brian added softly. “Sometimes --”
Nick moaned, turning slightly.
Howie and Brian looked at each other.
“Nick,” Brian said, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”
“Nngh,” Nick replied.
“Nicky, wake up,” Howie coaxed, his heart beating faster. “It’s over now.” C’mon, he’s just gotta wake up, he thought.
“Brian,” Nick called softly.
Brian reached out and took his friend’s hand. “I’m here, Nicky. Open your eyes. Trust me. It’s all over.”
Nick slowly opened his eyes and took in his two friends leaning over him.
Tears spilt unnoticed down Brian’s face. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispered, “welcome back.”
~~~