"This germ can multiply every four seconds. Once it gets into a human being,
it immediately launches its attack in the body. From there, it can grow into
a full-fledged infection by burrowing itself into the human's cells.."
The dull blue glow of the television played on Jonathan's face. It was three
in the morning and he was still up, staring blankly at the Discovery
Channel. He was sucked into the program on diseases and couldn't peel his
bloodshot eyes away. A plastic bottle laid opened on the floor, its contents
spilled out. Only one pill was missing, and the ecstasy was already
overtaking Jon's mind.
".. if not properly treated, the virus can continue contaminating the body
and in some cases, can be fatal."
"Fatal," Jon repeated. "Don't want no germs. No, no.." He struggled to his
feet, wobbling to keep his balance, stepping on the bottle and crunching it.
"No, no, no.." He staggered to the bathroom, flicking on the light and
grasped onto the counter for support. He shuddered, staring at his hands.
"No!" He turned the faucet on hot and high. Steam floated up and he shoved
his palms under it. He gasped at the heat and frantically washed his hands
with a bar of soap. He rubbed madly and wiped his hands on a wash towel
until they turned red.
Fieldy appeared in the doorway, blinking in the bright bathroom light. "Man,
what the hell are you doing? It's three a.m."
Jon looked up with a wild expression on his face. "Can't let them get me.
Can't let them get me. They'll kill me!"
Fieldy raised his eyebrows. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Germs," he whispered. "They're everywhere." He glanced around warily,
expecting germs to fly out of nowhere.
"You have to get more sleep," Fieldy commented. "Can I get through? I have
to piss."
Jon backed up, ramming into the counter. "Watch out.. they're everywhere."
Fieldy shook his head and squeezed past Jon. He went in front of the toilet
but suddenly started coughing violently.
Jon jumped into the air, landing half-way on the sink and stared at Fieldy
with wide-eyes. "Germs!" he cried. "Get away!" He fell on the ground and
scrambled to his feet, rushing out of the room.
Fieldy, still coughing, stepped to the doorframe. He saw Jon run past Head,
who was awoken by Jon's shouts.
"What the hell?" Head exclaimed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Fieldy, you
okay?"
He nodded, coughing deeply and cleared his throat. "Something's up with
Jon."
Head looked around the small rec room and saw the ecstasy pills scattered
around. He sighed and collected them in his hands. "He's gotta stop with
these," he grumbled, tossing them in the trash. He turned the television off
and he and Fieldy went down the hall to find Jon.
"What's going on?" mumbled David, coming out of the room he shared with
Munky.
"Jon," was all that had to be said.
"Oh, shit," he sighed. He noticed a bundle of material on the floor and
pointed to it. "What's that?"
"Why don't you check?" Fieldy said, rolling his eyes.
David shot Fieldy a look and came out into the hallway. He grabbed the pile
and held them up. It was Jon's adidas sweatpants and sweatshirt.
Fieldy groaned. "I hope he isn't streaking the street again like last time."
David grimaced. "Maybe he's in the garage."
The three trekked down the short corridor and went into the small garage
which they used more as a place to toss old newspapers and tools. There they
found Jon curled up in an uncomfortable position in the deep, metal sink,
his long limbs drawn tightly to his torso. The hot water was on, steaming up
and he was shaking. A canister of Comet was tipped over on the floor and
Head noticed the powerful chemical's scent in the air.
"He put the shit in with him," he exclaimed. "We gotta get him out."
"I'll get a towel," David offered. He rummaged through the overspilling
laundry basket near the old washing machine, trying to find a decent towel.
Fieldy and Head rushed over to Jon. He didn't even seem to acknowledge them
at his side. He just shivered and whispered to himself.
"You go around there," Head ordered. "At the count of three.." He reached in
behind Jon. He inhaled sharply as his fingers touched the scalding water.
"Fuck, it's burning!" He turned off the water. He jammed his hands under
Jon's armpits and Fieldy tried to grab him under his knees. "One-two-three!"
Together, the two lifted Jon who screamed out and struggled like a fish out
of water.
"No! NO! Stop it!" he screeched, flailing. "The germs!! I gotta kill them
before they kill me!"
"David!" shouted Fieldy. David ran over with an old beach towel and was
poised to get it around Jon. Fieldy and Head finally got him out David
wrapped the towel around Jon's wet body. He held him firmly amidst his
attempts to free himself and Fieldy tried to hold him too.
Munky yelled, "What the hell is going on?!" He came into the room, wearing a
pair of old boxers and a torn green shirt.
"He took some drugs and now he's losing it again," explained Head.
"Shit!" cried David. "Look at his legs!"
Jon's skinny, hairy legs were totally red like a rash, and blisters were
forming.
Immediately, Munky raced to the bathroom to get cold water running. Jon,
still shrieking madly, was half-dragged, half-carried there where Fieldy
shoved him into the cramped stall. He fell down, sitting, with the towel
still draped over him. The cool liquid relieved his burning legs and he
sighed contentedly.
Head groaned. "Can someone get him some clothes?"
"I will," Fieldy volunteered and left the room.
Munky exhaled deeply and looked at Jon. His head was tilted back and he was
staring at the tiled ceiling. His lips moved ever-so-slightly, talking
incoherently.
Fieldy returned carrying a pair of baggy cotton shorts and one of Jon's
Duran Duran shirts.
"Let's get him out," suggested David. "He should be cooled down now."
Head and David leaned into the tiny shower and pulled Jon out. His body was
entirely limp and he couldn't stand up, so they had to carry him back into
the rec room. Munky retrieved a towel from the bathroom's cupboard and
tossed it to David who quickly dried Jon down.
"He's missing his boxers," he snickered. "I hope we won't find it in the
refrigerator." Fieldy slapped him on the back of the head.
After Jon was clothed, he was slowly coming to, yet he was more out of it
than in. "What.." he murmured.
"Come on, let's get you in bed," sighed Fieldy. He pulled Jon up whose knees
wobbled. He grabbed onto Fieldy's shoulder for support, so David came around
and allowed him to put his arm around his neck. They helped Jon into one of
the rooms where he collapsed on one of the small beds. Right away, he fell
asleep, drifting away into drug-induced dreams.
Leaving Jon in privacy, the four went back into the rec room, sitting down
on the beige shag carpeting.
"I'm gonna give him an earful when he wakes up," muttered Munky, idly
picking at some lint.
"Just.. let him relax. Tell him in a couple days," said Head.
"He can't keep getting away with this," argued David. "It's too dangerous
for his health."
"He's right," agreed Fieldy, coughing slightly.
Munky bit his bottom lip. "I just hope he'll be okay."
Jonathan felt like shit when he woke up the next morning. His throat was
scratchy, his head was pounding, his eyes were watery, and nearly his entire
body itched like hell.
He groaned painfully as he rolled over onto his back, missed and fell right
out of the bed. He landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Grunting, he
pulled himself up and drunkenly walked out into the kitchen where the others
were in there eating some corn flakes.
"Oh, sleeping beauty has awaken," David said sarcastically.
Jon flipped him off and shuffled over to the short rows of cabinets. "Are..
is.. um.. yeah." He stared into the empty cupboard. "Eehh.. orange juice?"
Munky glanced at the fridge and back at Jon. "Uhmm.. No. Just milk and
beer."
"Can you toss me a beer?" Jon asked, scratching his ass.
Munky shook his head. "You're too damn out of it now as it is!"
"Whuh happened?"
"You were so fucking high," said Head. "Want some?" He offered Jon his
half-eaten Pop-Tart.
Jon leaped back. "No! No, no, no. Uhh... no.. Thanks. I think.. I think I'll
get some more.. sleep." He hurried back into one of the bedrooms and closed
the door, locking it.
He remembered now. He remembered the germs. The germs that were out to get
him. To get him. To kill him.
Two days went by, and not a scrap of food entered Jon's lips. No one
noticed. Munky never did bring up anything about the drugs and he hoped he
wouldn't have to. That morning, Head asked Jon if he wanted to go to the
beach for the day with the rest of the guys. He shuddered inwardly and
declined. He had business to do.
Twenty minutes after the four left, Jon was ready. He went into the garage
and rummaged around. He found an old mop, a bucket, and some assorted
cleaners. Shakily snapping some old rubber gloves he proceeded to clean
every inch of the group's small bungalow until one could nearly see their
reflection in the toilet. When he finished, he took a long, scalding-hot
shower and put on a clean tracksuit. When he was done with that, he sat
himself in front of the TV and put the Discovery Channel on and watched it
until the guys returned.
"What the hell happened here?" were the first words out of David's mouth
when they returned. Jon peeked out into the front and saw his companions
back from their outing, coated in sand.
"Jon has really gone insane," mused Munky.
"Where is he?" asked Fieldy.
Jon silently snuck back into the rec room where he curled up on the couch
and feigned sleep.
Head came in just as Jon closed his eyes. "He's in here," he called. "He's
asleep."
"Hey," David called from the kitchen. "Where's all the Pop-Tarts?"
One Saturday, nearly one and a half weeks from the ecstasy incident and
Jonathan still hadn't eaten or drinken anything but water and coffee. The
other four decided they were slacking off too much and wanted to practice
and record another song for their demo.
Jon was asleep when Fieldy came to get him. "Get up," he said. "We wanna
work on Blind for the tape."
"Okay," said Jon. "I'll be there in a sec." Fieldy nodded and left.
Jon climbed out of bed. He felt so weak. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a
windbreak, zipping it to the neck, and walked slowly into the garage where
all the equipment was already set up. Head and Munky were tuning up their
guitars and Fieldy was plugging in his bass amp. David was rearranging his
drums. A microphone stood alone, waiting for Jon. Taking a breath, he walked
over to the mic.
"Are we ready?" asked Head. He was answered by a round of "yeah"'s. "You,
Jon?" He turned his face slightly and nodded.
Jon was lost in his thoughts as the music played. Then, in reflex, the heavy
sounds and beats brought him back and he shouted, "Are you ready?!" just in
He felt the room spin around him and his stomach clenched. His breathing
became shallow and ragged. He tried to shrug it off as he sang, "This place
inside my mind.. This place I like to hide.. You don't.. know.. the..
chances.." Suddenly, his body lost all feeling and he collapsed to the
ground.
He heard Fieldy gasp out and David's drumsticks clatter on the floor.
Panting heavily and staring through his fluttering eyelids, he saw his
friends gather around him.
"Jon.. hear.. me..?" Munky's voice filtered through his ears.
Two fingers pressed to his neck. "..pulse.. racing.."
"Call 911," Head cried out.
Then it all went black.
Fieldy sped into the kitchen where the phone was. He punched in 911.
"911. What's your emergency?" a gentle operator's voice spoke.
"Yeah, my friend, he, I dunno, he just passed out, something's wrong!"
Fieldy sputtered. He told their address and the operator sent an ambulance
on the way.
In just a few minutes, sirens were heard. Fieldy flung the front door open
and motioned for the paramedics to follow him through the house into the
garage. They were carrying a stretcher and a large red first-aid kit.
When the three saw the medics come, they quickly stepped back and let the
two men do their job. One took Jon's blood pressure while the other examined
him.
"What happened?" asked the younger of the two.
"He just fell over," said David. "We were practicing, he was singing and he
blacked out."
"Pupils dialated," the balding one said, shining a flashlight in Jon's eyes.
He glanced over Jon and reached for the zipper of his jacket. He pulled it
down partially and instantly pressed his stethescope to his chest. "His
breathing is abnormal."
"Blood pressure's high," his fellow worker reported.
The other dropped his stethescope down around his neck. "Let's get him out
of this." He pulled the zipper down all the way and pulled the jacket off.
His eyes widened. "This man is severely malnourished. We got to get him
hooked up to an IV right away." They slid a thin orange board under him and
at the count of three, lifted it up and put it on the stretcher, binding his
wrists and ankles. An oxygen mask was placed over his face. "Let's go."
Munky stared in fright at the sight before him. Jon wasn't aware of what was
going on. He looked so frail and tiny, his thin chest barely rising and
falling in breathing and his long, skinny legs sticking pitifully out of his
shorts. A lump formed in his throat as he asked, "Which hospital are you
taking him to?"
"Firestone Memorial," was the reply.
Munky ran out through the side door and jumped into the car. The others
followed him and they left for the hospital.
They were on the ambulance's tail the entire way and followed the medics
into the hospital as they rushed Jonathan in. They tried to follow them into
the ER but were forbidden to, so they were forced to wait in the waiting
room.
They were silent for a moment, but then David asked, "Has anyone seen him
eat anything since that one night?"
Everyone looked up with a surprised look on their faces.
"No," whispered Munky.
Fieldy and Head shook their heads. They all knew now.
In the ER a small handful of nurses and doctors were gathered around the
young Jon, examining him. Suddenly, one nurse cried out, "His heart
stopped!" She pointed toward the small heart monitor she hooked Jon up to
just a minute ago. It was flatlining.
"Everyone back away," ordered a doctor. She grabbed a nearby silver tray
which a defibullator was. A male orderly turned it on while she grabbed the
paddles. "Put it to 200," she said. The machine buzzed as the dial turned.
"Clear!" She pressed them to the sides of Jon's chest. Sending a jolt of
electricity through his body caused it to spasm and jump.
"Beeeeeeeeeeep.."
"300! ... Clear!" That did it. His heart bounced back and began to beep
steadily.
"Alright, let's get him stablized," the head doctor said.
A few minutes later, the doctor went out to report to the guys. "I'm Doctor
Morgan," she said.
"What's going on?" asked Munky.
"He is extremely malnutritioned. If he didn't get in now, he might not have
made it," she said. "His heart stopped for a few moments because of that.."
She saw the horrified looks on their faces and quickly added, "but
fortunately we got it back up. We have him stabilized now, and he's hooked
up intravenously. We're moving him to a room now, and it's just a short
distance from here. If you want, I can take you to see him."
Immediately, they all got up from their seats and followed Dr. Morgan down
the crowded hall into a small room right across from the nurse's station.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, to ask you guys some questions" she said,
walking out.
David gasped. "Oh, God.." His voice trailed off sadly.
Jon's bony form was clothed in a blue hospital gown which was baggy on him.
His arms had a ton of needles taped in, whose tubes snaked up to bags of
IV's. His eyes were closed, and dark, sunken-in circles were below them. A
heart monitor was hooked up to him, along with a respirator.
Fieldy stared wordlessly as his friend. He looked away as the tears fell
down his face.
Head stood in the doorframe of the rec room. "Jon, come on. We got some
In-N-Out."
Jon, curled up on the couch, glanced away from the television. He didn't say
a word.
Head walked over to Jon. "It's okay. It won't hurt you. Get up. You have to
get something in you."
Reluctantly, Jon got up. Head walked back to the kitchen, and Jon began to
follow him. Then, his eyes averted toward the TV. It was a commercial for
another germs special on the Discovery Channel. Narrowing his eyes, he
heaved the remote control at the set and stalked down the hallway. "Dammit,"
he muttered. "I want a fucking burger."
Germs