Gravity

Chapter Eight

Chris tossed on the bed. He was hot. He could hear people talking around him. He barely understood what they were saying. His head hurt, his chest hurt, his knees hurt. Everything hurt.

Will and Guy looked at him with worried eyes. They were in New York, it was the last day of their Parachutes tour, they had only a few more interviews scheduled before heading back home in a few days. They had just returned from the venue and they had had to practically drag Chris to his hotel room. The singer had been quite drowsy after their concert, but it was to be expected after such a long and stressful tour so no one gave a second thought when he sluggishly shuffled from the van to the lifts. However, when he had not answered his phone when they called him to invite him to join them at the after party or when he would not answer his door even after Guy’s insistent pounding, his band mates became concerned. Will had told their tour manager, who got the hotel manager to open Chris’ room for them.

Will, Guy and their manager froze when they walked into the room to find their friend unconsciously tossing and turning on his bed, drenched in sweat.

“Chris?” Will called to him. “Chris can you hear me?”

Chris moaned, he seemed to be elsewhere.

The drummer placed a hand on his forehead, “He’s burning up!” he announced sick with worry.

“Stay here. I’ll go get a doctor,” their boss said and walked out of the room.

“Noo, no, no, no, the plane, no,” Chris miserably murmured.

Guy and Will exchanged concerned looks.

“He must be hallucinating because of the fever,” Will said.

“NOOOOO!” Chris shouted and started whimpering. He became so agitated even Guy, who usually remained quite collected, started panicking.

“Shhh, Chris. You’re just dreaming,” he said gently touching his friend’s face. “Will, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nooo, the plane,” Chris continued.

“Everything’s fine, mate. You’re just feverish,” Will tried to calm him down. Chris’ eyes fluttered open, but by their distant look it was clear he was not there.

“Jonny,” he kneed desolately, tears rolling down his burning cheeks. “Jonny.”

“Jonny’s at the airport mate. He went to say goodbye to Anne. She’s going back to London, remember? He’ll be back in no time. I’m sure,” the younger man told him.

However, Chris did not seem to listen. “Jonny, no,” he wailed.

“Chris! Chris, wake up!” Guy said urgently patting the singer’s cheek, trying to make him react.

“Guy?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you ok?”

“Where’s Jonny? What happened to him? Where is he???!” he demanded, still caught up on his hallucination.

“Fuck!” the bass player said. “Where’s that bloody doctor??!”

“JONNY!” Chris called out sobbing.

“Jonny’s fine Chris,” Will tried to calmed him down.

“Don’t, don’t lie to me,” he uttered between sobs.

“I’m not lying, you’re feverish,” he tried to reason with him but by now Chris was inconsolable.

“I’ll call Jon,” Guy said, already dialing his number.