Doubled (A One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

Simon Cowell was worried. The world’s biggest boyband, his boyband were all half-dead and lying unconscious in a hospital.

“Tell them they’ve gone to Africa or something, I don’t know!”

The stress was becoming too much for the world-famous producer. Wincing as he pulled the greying hair from his head, he let out a shaky sigh.

“The only thing we can do is trick all the media to think they’re on a little vacation.”

A muffled answer could be heard from the other end of the phone line.

“But Simon, how?”

He let out yet another sigh before pacing across his small office. All of his employees were so clueless. Each and every one of them didn’t meet his standards. But unfortunately they were all he had. Letting out a couple of mumbled profanities, he leant onto his mahogany desk.

“Just, what do you call it... photo shop something so the boys look like they’re in a poor place in Africa. We’ll organise the real thing when they’re all recovered. You got that?”

A small “Yes, Sir” was muttered before the line disconnected. Running his fingers through his short hair, Simon fell back into his desk chair.

One day ago, One Direction were happily being their immature selves, getting ready for the performance of their lives, and now, just 24 hours later, each of them were hooked up to morphine drips, heart monitors and god knows what.

All he could think about was the phone call he’d received that morning.

“Hello, Simon Cowell speaking.”

“Hello Mr. Cowell. My name is Amanda Harris and I’m a nurse at West Midtown Medical Group Inc. I assume you’d like to know how Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan are progressing?”

His heart rate increasing, Simon let out a quiet “Yes, thank you” and waited for the nurse to continue speaking.

“Mr Payne, Mr Malik, Mr Tomlinson and Mr Styles are currently under a stable condition, each luckily only suffering a broken leg each, Mr Malik 2 broken bones in his right arm, Mr Styles a broken finger and Mr Tomlinson 3 fractured toes. They each will be left with no permanent damage.” Her slick American accent rang through the mobile.

“Sorry, ah, Ms Harris, but you didn’t mention Niall. Niall Horan.” His voice was shaky now. If Niall had... not made it, it would be the end of One Direction’s career.

“Ah, yes sir. To my dismay, Mr Horan wasn’t as lucky as the 4 others. He is alive, sir. Don’t worry about that. The only downside is that Niall will have temporary memory-loss for approximately 3 months. His skull had hit the win-“

“Okay, thankyou Amanda. Please keep me updated on the boy’s progress.”

After his last words, Simon had hurriedly pressed the ‘end call’ button. He just wouldn’t be able to hear what happened to Niall in full detail. Not yet, anyway.

“What am I going to do...?” he muttered, once again pulling out his phone. After typing a few numbers, he put the phone against his ear.

“Brrr, brrr. Brrr, br- Hello?” an unfamiliar Indian accent answered at the other end.

Making sure to deepen his voice, Simon started speaking. “Hello, my name is Alex Flint and I need a Taxi at 622 3rd Avenue New York, NY 10017 in 20 minutes.” Using a fake name like every other time he needed public transport, he waited for the reply.

“Okay Sir. Where do you need to go?” the same voice drawled through the phone.

“The Laguardia Airport, please.”

“How many people, sir?”

“Just one, thank you.”

“A car will be waiting out the front in 20 minutes. Thank you.” The Taxi driver hung up quickly.

Now Simon just needed to pack. Pulling out a few t-shirts and hoodies, he shoved them into a random suitcase. “Where are my sweats…” he murmured, biting his lip anxiously.

15 minutes left…

Jamming his toothbrush, toothpaste and a razor into a ziplock bag he jogged back into the main office.

10 minutes…

Pulling on one of his Jack Wills Hoodies and putting a pair of PJ’s in his over-filled suitcase, he jogged into his room. His fingers closed around a thick stack of 50 pound notes. He grunted as he tried to force it into the front pocket of his jeans.

With only 4 minutes to go, he jumped down the stairs two at a time, dragging the heavy suitcase behind him. Reaching up to the navy-blue hoodie, he pulled it over his head.

“OI! TAXI!” He said, waving his free hand in the air. It drove towards him, slowing to a stop just inches away from his feet.

“Mr Flint, Sir?” the driver stood up and shook Simon’s slightly sweaty hand.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Simon Cowell hopped into the small, sleek car before driving off.

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Author’s Note

Hello! Sorry it was so late, I just started school again, so we’ve got heaps of homework and that. I’ve already gotten the next chapter half written, so it should be quicker. This is a long chapter, so please vote, fan me and comment what you think. Thankyou!