Chapter 12

“A what?”

Four very astonished singers stared at the doctor before them in disbelief. All along they were told it was an incurable disease that would inevitably destroy their friend within a year, months. It changed frequently. But a computer virus…that was impossible.

Doctor Rave sighed. “It seems to be a virus.”

Brian shook his head. “No way… That’s not possible, is it? I mean… Howie’s human…”

Doctor Rave frowned. Then her mask of confusion vanished. “Oh! I don’t mean the virus was ever inside of your friend.”

“Then…” Kevin held up a hand. “What did you mean?”

“The virus was implanted into both hospitals’ systems. It made it appear to be the infection both we and Mercy Hospital saw.” She appeared pensive for a moment before continuing. “You see there was no ‘infection’. What was affecting your friend and his voice was a very strong acidic formula. We found traces of it in his lungs, also some near his heart. We’re not sure yet what the contents of the formula were precisely, but whatever they were, they were giving your friend severe discomfort. We believe it to be the cause of his earlier heart attack and the burning in his esophagus.”

A.J. frowned. “Then…” He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “You mean someone was feeding him acid?”

The doctor seemed reluctant to answer. “Well, I’m not sure if it was intentional, but there was definitely acid. It was burning away sections of his lungs. Since this has been going on for around a year, the acid has been eating at his ribs on and off. Until we get further samples and process them, there’s not much else I can tell you.” She paused. “But it does look like it was intentional.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “Someone tried to kill Howie?” he asked incredulously. “Who the hell would want to do that? Howie’s never hurt anyone!”

Doctor Rave shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can’t see how it could be a mistake if it has been going on for a year. And the acid is manmade, if not man-mixed.”

A.J. shook his head. “I don’t believe it. No one would try to kill him.”

Nick and Brian both nodded in agreement. Who could want to kill Howie? Like Brian said, Howie had never done wrong to anyone, at least not anything horrible enough to make someone want to kill him.

Kevin said nothing, though, pursing his lips instead. He looked to the floor. He knew someone who would try to kill Howie. He knew that someone very well, indeed. But he decided against voicing his opinion out loud. The others would imagine it impossible. But if he told them, someone would have to believe him, right?

…Nah.

<~*~>

Howie’s in intensive care… Again.

I’ve described the feeling of hospitals, the fear, the yearning to leave, the pain to see your best friend lying on a hospital bed drugged up with anesthetics so he can sleep without pain. But have I ever described the stale smell in the air?

It smells like death. Don’t ask me how I know what death smells like. It’s a sixth sense, really. You know it when you smell it. It’s like those fine oils that you can’t smell. At first it’s just another scent in the room. Then it attacks you with a cold, stony, musty odor.

Like death itself, really…

How long has it been since I wrote in this thing? Probably a year, maybe more, who knows? I stopped keeping track. Did I tell you Howie got his voice back for a while? No, I didn’t. He did, though. For a few minutes, at least… Then he had a heart attack, or so they’re telling us.

The so-called “infection” is really a chemical called digloxide. It’s a mixture of two others called trinicerite and coglyceride. Originally, it was questioned whether the acid that’s now slowly murdering my best friend was deliberately given to him or not. It’s no question now. Trinicerite and coglyceride are illegal chemicals used for a drug called antagonise. Don’t know what antagonise is? Think rat poison…times six. The police have since been informed and Howie’s disease is now officially open for prodding and poking to the FBI.

All this time the “infection” has been controlled by a computer virus implanted into the hospitals’ computer systems. It hid the acid from the X-rays and instead portrayed a cartoon, basically, of the dreaded “infection”.

I’m sorry, did that sound a little spiteful?

No?

Okay, how about this? The doctors went to medical school for something around six years to be tricked into believing my best friend was fatally infected with some mystery disease that turned out to be some sick fuck slipping fucking acidic drugs to Howie and implanting the hospital’s computers with a virus while those fucking acidic drugs ate away at his insides that will probably end up seriously endangering his life anyway.

Bitter?

What was your first clue?

~From the journal of A.J. McLean

<~*~>

A.J.’s writing in his journal again. He looks pretty angry… Not like that’s strange. I mean, I can definitely sympathize with him. I’m pissed too.

The doctors can’t even let us see Howie anymore. We saw him the first day for around five minutes before the staff made us leave. He wasn’t even awake. What’s scaring me is the way it looks like Howie isn’t even trying. It’s like he’s finally really given up.

That’s crazy… He’s unconscious. And he’d never give up on us. Never. He’s just not that weak. He can beat this. Okay, no one’s going to read this besides me, so I’m just going to ask. Does he know he can?

~From the journal of Brian Littrell

<~*~>

Hospitals have never been my forte.

Since this is my journal, I can tell you the truth. I hate this place. I’ve hated Saint Gabriella’s Hospital since we came down here. I know it’s near Howie’s family and he’s been happier here until recently, but I hate it.

I hate the doctors here acting like they know everything. I hate the way A.J. used to smirk at me like he knew what was best for Howie and I was some idiot trying to get his best friend killed. Oh, dear Lord, Alex, when will you grow up?

I’m sorry. I can’t say that. I’m just scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I can’t take my anger out on A.J.

But I can take it out on this hospital. This hellhole of a place they have the nerve to call a hospital. I want to see Howie, Goddamn it, and they won’t let us near him.

Bastards.

~From the journal of Kevin Richardson

<~*~>

I don’t write journals. In fact, this is the first time I really might write an entire entry. Well, maybe. It’s late and I’m tired. A.J. and Brian took a shift at the hospital. Yeah, like there’s a point now.

It’s not like Mercy when the doctors called us up and told us when something bad happened. Gabriella doesn’t tell us shit. But that’s thanks to the FBI and crap. They won’t let the staff tell us a Goddamn thing. The FBI people keep asking us if there’s anyone at all who might want to kill Howie. Of course, we keep saying “no”. Who would?

Well, I know.

It’s kind of obvious if you think about it long enough. And believe me, I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want Brian trying to console me when I’m fine, I don’t want to watch A.J. PMSing at the doctors, I don’t want Kevin being all weird and emotional around me, and I don’t want to be near Howie right now. He’s like a fucking mummy. He’s unconscious and dying. I don’t want to be around that. It’ll just fuck with my head.

So I think.

Every arrow points to him. He’s a suspicious ass, too. I don’t trust him anymore. He used to have my trust, but I know it’s him. I just have to find out how I can prove it…

~From the journal of Nick Carter

<~*~>

Brian raked his hands through his hair, hiding the tremble in his fingers.

“I can’t believe I used to like this place,” he mumbled. He looked off to the side at A.J., but his band mate was staring straight ahead, ears and eyes numb to all around him, most likely.

He sighed. It was no use talking to him anymore. Come to think of it, it was impossible to talk to anyone anymore. Even Howie’s family… Wait, especially Howie’s family. They came every day to see Howie, but every time they left with the knowledge that he was still unconscious.

Brian felt a tumor of spite suffocating his heart. He and the others were like brothers to Howie, but Gabriella didn’t care. Only blood family members were allowed in that section of the hospital. And according to Gabriella, they were just acquaintances.

They hadn’t seen Howie in two weeks.

“Who would do this?”

Brian’s eyes darted up from the floor to A.J. The younger man still had his eyes trained ahead, but at least he was talking.

Brian shook his head, answering quickly so he could keep the momentum of A.J.’s sudden decision to speak up. “I don’t know, Jay. I really don’t.” He bit his lip. Perfect, Littrell, he scolded himself. You’re going to send him into mime-ism now!

A doctor around fifty rounded into the waiting room. “Mr. Littrell?”

A.J. and Brian looked up at the sound of Brian’s last name, stunned. None of them had ever been called upon during their several visits to Gabriella anymore. It was usually a phone call to Howie’s parents if someone needed to be reached.

“Yes?” Brian said, since A.J.’s eyes were very much bulging in shock by this point.

The doctor spotted them and nodded. “There are two officers here to speak with you.”

A.J. seemed to recover his composure as he said, “What for?”

An agent (most likely from the FBI) walked into the waiting room. He stopped in front of A.J. and Brian, staring down at them with maddeningly expressionless eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Both of you will have to come with me.”

A.J. bristled. “What the fuck for?” he snapped. His temper was coming back full force, Brian realized with a shudder. This would not be a pretty sight.

The agent scowled. “We have a few suspects in mind.” He said nothing more on that subject, but Brian knew he wasn’t done yet, either. The agent’s eyes glinted. “We have a few things to discuss with you.”