~~* Two months later *~~

 

“Well, guys, here we are,” Paul said as he dropped his backpack on the floor of that lavishly furnished house. “Back to where we’d always been whenever we’re down here in Oslo.”

“I can’t believe this…” Ben sighed as he put down his suitcase. “And, Paul, I still can’t believe you’re just bringing that bag. How many pairs of jeans did you bring?”

“Just one. We’re not gonna be here long, are we?” Paul asked as they looked at the furniture in that room. They had been there in that house countless of times – when Christian had been alive. But this time, everything was just slightly different. Every piece of furniture in that room was covered with white linen while all the photos on the tables were turned – its face facing the tabletops. The pictures that were on the walls were turned so that the backs of the frames were facing them.

“I didn’t expect all of this,” Ben said, his eyes wide and round.

They ventured further into the house, leaving their baggage on the steps that led to the first floor of that house. Mark closed the door behind them and followed the other two. The shelves in the lounge were also draped with white linen and so were the cabinets and the brown chairs and breakfast bar in the kitchen. The wine-shelf was also draped in white.

“Wow…” Paul said. “Pleasant.”

“Oh, shut up, Paul,” Ben said as he pulled the cloth covering the cream-coloured settee. He sat down as soon as he folded the cloth into a rough rectangle.

Mark pulled the cloth draped on the recliner and settled in it himself. He pulled off the cloth draped over the coffee table and the tall lamp next to the recliner. It was then that he noticed something fluttered out from underneath the cloth. And that thing had just landed on his feet.

Mark bent over to pick it up. It was a small envelope – a small white envelope. “Hey, guys,” he called out in a quiet voice.

The conversation between Paul and Ben came to a halt when they realised that they had heard Mark spoke for the first time in months. Ben and Paul went to Mark’s side when they realised that Mark was staring at a white envelope in his hands.

“What is that?” Paul asked.

Mark shrugged. “I saw it when I was pulling that piece of cloth off.” He pointed at a white sheet near his feet.

“Open it,” Ben urged.

Mark carefully opened the flap of that envelope. He took out a piece of yellow-coloured paper from inside the envelope that was folded neatly so that it fitted the envelope perfectly. Mark opened the letter and started reading.

 

To Mark, Paul and Ben.

I know those four months had been hard on the three of you. It was hard for me too. But you’ve got to pull yourselves together. There’s no point crying over spilled milk. Besides, I’m in a happier place now. No more suffering, I’m really happy. But not as happy without the three of you, but still content nonetheless.

Back to the topic, I just hope that the three of you would feel better after getting this letter. I’d seen the fans reactions when they got the news but I don’t think they could take it if they lost the three of you too.

Especially to you Mark. I know of those nightmares that you’d been having lately. I know how scary those nightmares can be. But I think if you stop isolating yourself and open yourself up to others again and accept the hard truth, you’d be better. Tell the others about your dream. Don’t be afraid. Fight that dream. I’ll help you, if you want.

And to Paul, stop drinking. You know that alcohol did nothing to stop your sorrows. You can only drown them for a night. After you wake up, you’ll get the hangovers. No doubt that the hangovers actually help you to forget about your emotions for a while, but it will come back as soon as the hangovers wears off. Don’t tell me you’re just going to drink until you’re satisfied in order to forget your sorrows… it’s just not right. Don’t they teach you Health Education over there in your hometown? Alcohol hardens your arteries in long terms. It hardens your liver too; it starts eating you from the inside. You’ll die.

Ben, stop crying at night. You’re no girl. I don’t know you as a girl, Ben. Don’t cry. And don’t follow Paul drinking till the early hours. You’re still young, Ben.

Guys, live your lives to the fullest. Appreciate you lives and cherish life for what it is. And remember me, just like how I’ll remember all of you. I’ll be with you, no matter where you are. I’ll be watching over you so you better stop doing those things that I don’t approve of. I’ll be with you all the way. God bless.

 

“Who wrote this letter?” Ben asked. “His or her handwriting is so familiar.” He peered at the letter again, studying the scrawly handwriting that seemed to go smaller at the end of each word.

“This is Christian’s house. Of course Christian wrote it,” Paul argued. “The question is when. When did he write this letter? Had he been so prepared about his death that he wrote this letter before he died?”

“How did he know so much? If he had written this letter before he die, how did he know how we’re gonna act after his death?” Ben asked. Ben then noticed something. He thought he’d saw something that seemed like a tail – or a loop – of a letter poking out from underneath Mark’s thumb. He leaned forward and picked Mark’s thumb out of the way.

Mark removed his thumb immediately. That was when the other three had the shock of their lives – shocked to their very cores.

There, at the bottom of the letter, was undoubtedly the scrawling signature of Christian’s. And to help them, he’d had also dated the letter.

“It was written yesterday!” Paul said, his voice filled with awe.

“But how?” Mark asked. This time, his voice was different now. There was more life to it; the usual springiness in Mark’s voice was clear. The other two didn’t seemed to notice in the first place. “How could he write the letter when he’d been gone for, what, for months?” he babbled.

“I don’t think anyone could answer that question, Mark,” Ben said. Then, he turned and stared at Mark. “Mark, you spoke.”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna run away from us again? Lock yourself up?”

Mark shook his head. “Christian was right. I’d kept too much inside of me. I was scared… so scared that I couldn’t bring myself to think what’s gonna happen after his death…”

“I know, Mark, I know,” Paul said.

“But after reading this letter, I know that he’ll always be with us. There’s no point being afraid. He’ll be here to guide us now,” Mark said.

 

Christian, in fact, was standing in front of the small group. All three huddled around as they read and reread that letter. A smile touched Christian’s lips. He knew that they were shocked to see that letter. He actually hadn’t known that he could write that letter.

That man whom he’d seen at his deathbed gave him a piece of paper and a pen all of a sudden earlier yesterday. He’d told him to write down anything and everything that Christian had wanted to say to the other three. He knew that this young man had many things in his mind that was worth hearing. Christian then later left the letter underneath the white sheet draped over his coffee table in his house. He knew full well – even after his death – that the house would go to Mark, Paul and Ben. He knew that his parents wouldn’t betray him and his wishes.

In fact, he was the one who had told his father to give them the house. He knew that being a pop star isn’t a very safe job. Take Aaliyah for instance. She died all of a sudden in that plane crash. She was on her way to film her new movie! She hadn’t known that she was going to die. And look at Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopez. She had died in a car accident.

Who was to know what would happen in the future? How do you know when you’re going to die? Christian was no Nostradamus. He couldn’t predict the future or his schedule for the next day, let alone his death. He’d been very unprepared for his death as the next guy had.

That was what drove him to leave a message to his parents. Just after he’d bought his house – the very house that he’d given to his three friends – he told his parents that in case anything terrible happened to him which involved his death, all the money that he’d earned and all his other property goes to them and his siblings. He’d wanted them to tell Eva and Martin how much he loved them. The only thing that was left was that house and he told his parents that the house and the trophies as well as everything that they had won while they were together as a band belonged to the other three lads. They deserved it. His contract with some new and upcoming artistes in Norway belonged to his partner, Trond.

He knew as well that as the remaining three ventured through the house and explore it, they would find rough copies of the songs that he’d had written all through the years – songs that they’d never had the chance to listen to; songs that he wasn’t able to finish. They were also able to see all those photographs that he’d taken while he was in university. He’d taken photography then and had been made into assistant photographer to a professional for a month for training. And then, there were the musical instruments in his studio…

Christian wiped a tear from his eye. He knew he missed his mortal days, there was no doubt in that; he couldn’t deny it anyway. All the dead people missed their lives before their deaths. Although many of them were at peace and they were happy with their after-death lives, they still couldn’t leave their loved ones behind – their friends and family members. It’s only those that had died so many decades – or centuries ago – that wouldn’t regret their deaths. That was only because their loved ones were already there in Heaven together with them.

But for Christian, it was a little harder because there was no one he had known or recognised in Heaven. He just couldn’t believe that he died even before his parents did. His grandparents were still alive too. And he couldn’t seem to find Lyeana. He was so alone…

Then again, he didn’t actually regret his death because he couldn’t possibly regret his death! He wasn’t the one causing his death! He was forced to meet death because of his father. But should he smile because he’s now free of the pain that his father had caused him? Or should he cry because he’d lost everything that he had, just so that he could be free – his friendship with Paul, Ben and Mark and his family?

Unable to contain his sadness and sorrow and probably his hatred and anger at his father, he decided to leave Earth and go back to Heaven in search for peace and tranquillity. Heaven was such a happy place that no one had ever shed a tear there.

 

 Ben, Mark and Paul walked further into the house. They came a room where there was a table in the middle. They remembered that the room was affectionately dubbed by Ben as the “Fame Room” on their first visit to that house.

A cream-colour-marbled table was placed in the middle of the room with chairs surrounding the table. They had sat there countless times as they tried to write songs. A black guitar was on a chair, a sharp contrast to the white sheet that was draped over the chair and the rest of the whiteness in that room.

The three could remember that there were many sweet memories in that room. In fact, the room was surrounded with those memories. It was only with the white cloth pinned to the walls that created a shield of some sort; stopping them from seeing and reliving their memories.

“Remember those multi-platinum discs?” Paul asked as images of their happier days went through his mind. His lips curved slightly as he remembered their first times in foreign countries; them bashing the hotel rooms and their silly jokes while filming. 

Mark smiled fondly. “Remember the music that we had together?”

Ben nodded. “The fans were great.”

“Our nights out, just to drink.” Paul’s smile grew wider. However, it wasn’t a happy smile, it was one of remembrance as he relived those happy days. He knew that without Christian, there was absolutely no way that they could be that content anymore. Him being not there just doesn’t feel right anymore.

Ben sniffed. Mark sensed that Ben was closed to tears as he enveloped him in a brotherly hug.

“Remember what Christian had said?” Mark whispered.

“Yes.” The sobs broke out, wrecking Ben’s body as he cried. “I… j… just ca… can’t b… believe that he’s g… gone.”

“Neither can we, Ben, neither can we.” Paul hugged Ben as well, sandwiching the youngest member.

“Why did he have to leave?” Ben asked.

“We can’t answer that,” Paul said. “This is just nature.”

Mark and Paul could feel the convulsion in Ben as he cried harder.

“Ben, there is no point in crying,” Mark tried to reason. “It wouldn’t bring him back.”

Ben didn’t answer but Mark could feel the wet spot on his t-shirt drew larger. Ben really was using him as a handkerchief or something.

“I feel so empty, Mark, so, so very empty!” Ben wailed. “I feel useless! There’s nothing that I can do! I couldn’t write anything, I couldn’t even sing the songs that had Christian’s parts in them. I can’t do anything that has connection with music because they reminds me so much of Chris!”

“You think I don’t feel this way?” Mark asked him back. “He was like a muse; an inspiration to me.”

“And without him, it was like we’d lost a source where we derive our energy from. I can’t write either, let alone sing. All our songs are sloppy,” Paul agreed.

“It’s like we’d lost all our musical talents with him. Without him, we’re powerless. We can’t do anything,” Mark said. “A part of us just dies with him.”

“I felt as if I’d lost my elder brother – someone who could look after me,” Ben said. He was no longer crying. He was just sniffing and constantly wiping the tears from his eyes. That was entirely true. Ben was the eldest amongst his siblings and although there were Paul and Mark as his brothers, he felt as if by losing Christian; he’d lost a part of his family.

“And I lost my younger brother,” Paul said. His heart ached at the thought of Christian that he’d known so well. He remembered the pain in him when they told him that Christian was dead. “I’ve never had a younger brother just like Christian. Even though I had the both of you, I’d still miss Christian. He’s different. Everyone’s different. I feel as if I couldn’t live without him.” Paul bit his lower lip as he recalled their brief years with Christian. 

Mark could feel Paul’s pain. Christian was the closest to Paul. Mark himself was the closest to Ben. He didn’t know what was the reason that the four of them were divided that way but that’s the way it goes. Probably Christian found comfort around Paul and he trusted Paul enough, just as Paul trusted him and believed in him, putting all his faith in him.

“I’d lost my writing inspiration.” Mark sighed and dried his tears with the heel of his left hand. “I feel as if I’d lost half of myself… half of my brains. I couldn’t go on writing, not without Christian. He’s always there for all of us. He was the capable one that keeps the whole band going. He’s also like the happy bug.” Every smile that Mark remembered was like a stab in the heart to him. Every smile, every grin, every action, every pose that Christian had whether inside or outside the photo studios. He’s just… naturally being… well, him.

“That’s because we all enjoy take the mickey out of him,” Paul smiled. “It’s because he’s Norwegian, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Mark said. “Besides that, he’s such a fun bloke to be around with… to hang out with. I mean, we had fun laughing at his mistakes caused by the language barrier. He’s always there for everyone, why couldn’t we be there for him? We weren’t there, not even once. Why was that?”

“We didn’t even help him when he testified and go against his father. We could at least be there for moral support,” Ben said.

“He didn’t want us there.”

“But we could always reason with him. He could’ve understood.” Ben started crying again.

This time, none of them answered Ben. No words were exchanged. Their sobs and aches were enough to be words of their conversation.

 

Christian shook his head as he took his seat atop the cold marble table. Not that he’d be able to feel anything anymore but he was sure that the table would be cold. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at his three sobbing friends.

He’d returned just in time to give them one last gift. A gift that he was sure all of them would cherish and remember. This time, he was sure that they’d be able to hear him, although they couldn’t see him or touch him. He knew they’d feel him in that room. This was his house, after all. It had that ‘Christian feel’ all around it.

He started humming, softly at first, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to hear it. But he knew they would be able to hear the later part of the song.

His voice dipped and went a little higher, louder, as he went into the first verse. He started singing a song – a song he knew so sad that people would cry upon hearing it – a song written on the first months of his death while he was in Heaven. A song written out of his boredom and his sadness – his sadness and melancholies.

 

Mark’s head snapped up. He thought he’d heard something. He strained his ears, listening if he could catch any of the tunes he’d heard.

His change in body language alerted Paul. “What’s going on?” Paul asked, sensing Mark’s alertness.

“I heard something…” Mark said, and then shushed his friend.

It was a beautiful sound, floating around him – enveloping him, engulfing him with a sort of emotion that he couldn’t comprehend. He recognised it as a song. Rising and dipping…

‘But who was the singer?’ his head asked as he got carried away by the smooth, sweet flowing slow tune.

Distinctly, he heard a low voice, singing. There was no mistaking in it anymore. He recognised that voice anywhere! As a matter of fact, he’d been so accustomed to that voice!

“Chris?” he whispered. Mark thought that the singing had stopped. “Chris, are you here?”

“Mark, have you gone out of your head?” Paul asked. “Christian wouldn’t be here. He’s… he’s… gone.”

The singing started again, this time picking up from where it’d left off. Yes, it was definitely Christian’s voice. He couldn’t make that mistake.

But the song. It was different. It felt as if he was singing the song in his head, drilling it into his head.

“Mark!” Paul yelled. He noticed the change in his friend’s expression.

“Paul, Ben,” Mark said immediately. “I need you in Christian’s studio, now!”

 

Christian smiled to himself. He knew that Mark would remember the song. He’s dead now, isn’t it? It also means that he had the power that angels had. And no one will ever forget an angel’s song. Once an angel had sung a song to you, the song will be in your head, forever.

His smile grew when he heard Mark playing the keyboard in the studio. Yes, Mark had definitely remembered the song. He’d even make sure that Mark does. He was singing the song to Paul and Ben now.

His last gift was finished. He couldn’t do anything now but just pray that the others will let him go… not to forget him, but just let go of him. They would be happier that way…

 

“How did you…?” Paul asked.

“I heard it in the kitchen just now.” Mark stopped as he played the closing bars on the piano. He knew it was impossible to come out with the scores that soon but when he’d heard Christian singing just now, it was as if he was playing the piano as well. And now, when he was playing the song on the piano, it felt as if he’d known the song for a very long time, those familiar notes.

“Could it just be you brainstorming?” Ben asked.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t actually brainstorm that well now, do I?”

“I supposed.”

“Then, why was Christian singing it to you and not to us?” Paul asked.

“I guess you’re both crying your eyes out.”

“That’s strange because I remembered that you were crying as well,” Ben shot back to Mark.

But Mark knew that Christian’s mother was right. Christian had found a way to be with them for good. They wouldn’t be able to see him but he could feel that Christian was near, watching over them.

“Thank you, Chris,” Mark whispered amidst the silly argument that Paul and Ben were having with Mark.

 

They were having their banters again.

It’s better now. They’re actually coming out of it. They could joke now, it shouldn’t be that bad anymore. He felt happy for the rest of them. Smiling again, he disappeared in a bright white glow. It’s over now. It’s really, really over now. He would never regret or trade his life for anything…

 

 

“It’s been a long hard road without you by my side

Why weren’t you there all the nights that we cried

You broke my mother’s heart

And you broke your child for life

It’s not okay

But I’m not ashamed to say

I’m alright.

 

I remember the days when

You were a hero in my eyes

But those were just a long lost memory of mine

I spent so many years learning how to survive

How to avoid all those nasty things

Now, I’m writing just to let you know

That I’m still alive.

 

But Ben, Paul, Mark,

Why didn’t I say anything to you earlier?

It could’ve save me from many things

But it’s too late now

Yes, it’s nothing but too late

I don’t know why I didn’t really trust you all

But what’s done is done

There’s absolutely no turning back for me now

I’m now knocking on heaven’s door.”

 

~~ If you think that the first two stanzas of this poem are very familiar, then you’re probably right… especially to those punk fans. I’ve taken it from Emotionless by Good Charlotte – one part altered a little to go in with the rest of the poem. The reason why I like Emotionless is because it’s such a meaningful and deep song – a song of regret, I realised. But the last stanza is my creation, an inspiration I got after listening to a song that I’d written two years ago. I officially declared the end of “His Life” on the 20^th of August, 2003 – 3.05pm. I enjoy writing this fic, and although you people didn’t review, I hope you had fun reading it. There might be a sequel, so watch out for it! And to Kaz, thank you very, very much for your time!!!! Lyl xx~~

 

What it took to write this fic:

-          Cold showers. I get ideas while I’m in the shower.

-          Many hours spent sitting in front of the computer. I like to write my stories after twelve in the night. I get more ideas. I dunno why though… lol!

-          Chocolate milkshakes

-          Kit-Kat bars. Very inspirable.

-          Millions of “I Fell In Love With An Angel” and “(It’s So Easy) Mr. Bartender” and “Why Don’t You And I”. The list is endless actually coz I have 295 songs stored in my computer.

-          “Go to bed! You’ve got school tomorrow.” x infinity from my mother. I could stay up till three in the morning, just to work on this fic.

-          Also endless playing of Meteora. I love the new LP album very much. Besides, I downloaded all the songs of Meteora into my computer lately.

-          ‘No pads, no helmets… just balls’. Just gotta love ‘em! Also ‘does this look infected?’. 2 totally fab albums.

-          Hours and hours spent drooling over a picture of Christian. It helps when I’m writing if I’m staring at a character that I’m elaborating/writing on. I have a feeling that I can capture more of their inner characteristics/styles/ways/personalities/whatever by staring at a picture. If that character is my creation – like Christian’s biological father in this fic – I drew up a portrait of some sort of that character (did I mention that I take art classes and I like to draw? I do believe that most lefties are rather good in art but no, I’m not a leftie. No one knows why though).