Brotherhood

Unpleasant Memories

            Blake flipped the DVD over and over between his fingers, his eyes on the bottle resting on the table. He didn't want to drink. He was all too aware that if he took a drink tonight, he'd finish the bottle. But he'd still put the bottle out anyway. He might need it to get through what was on the disc. He didn't remember who it was that had burned the disc and given it to him, but he'd been told it was everything, including the night Adam was taken, the press conferences Blake had done, and the night Adam had finally returned, just before he'd disappeared again. He'd had it for a year and hadn't been able to watch it. But tonight, he was determined to do so.

With a deep breath, Blake put the disc into the player and started it playing.

There was Adam on the screen. From the moment he was introduced that night, on the next to last live show from last year, Blake could see something was wrong. His friend's smile never touched his eyes, and his eyes constantly shifted around, wary and watching. The entire night, Adam was subdued, pale faced and jumpy. At the time, Blake had noticed, but had attributed Adam's anxiety to the stress of working with Blake after their disastrous road trip.

If only that had been the case.

Blake's heart pounded in his chest as he waited, speeding through the performances of the night, only stopping when Adam's face appeared. Now he was near the end of the night, when the fun stopped and the horror began.

"A year ago, I told you and the other producers that I was in danger and asked for protection. I was hoping for the police, or at least some extra security. But instead, all you did was alert security to be on their guard and went on with the show. And we all know what happened then!"

Adam's words rang through Blake's mind. He'd known, Adam had known what could happen, had even known the name of the man who'd attacked him. How he'd managed to stay through the show was a mystery. Even now, knowing what was coming and safely on his couch in his LA home, Blake still jumped when the sound of gunshots rang out, just as he'd done that terrible night. And now, watching the recording, he saw how the cameras had frozen on a view of all four coaches. He watched himself looking at Adam with alarm, saw the naked fear on Adam's face as shouts and screams flooded the microphones. And now came something he'd forgotten. Adam's mouth moved as he stared at Blake, forming words without sound. "Run, Blake! Run!"

Why had he done that? Why had Adam told him to run, rather than running himself when he had been in so much danger? Blake found himself clutching his fists, silently begging the Adam on the screen to run, to somehow get away. But Adam had only leaned back in his chair, frightened and small, his terrified eyes watching as the figure came closer.

Closer.

Came right up to Adam and leaned over his chair as the rocker cringed away. Adam's microphone picked up the man's words. "And what do you think you're doing here?"

"Coaching a vocal team?" Adam had replied.

The man barked laughter. He was big, all muscles, with dark hair and a cruel set of dark eyes that would soon grace every television and police station in the nation. He carried a small canvas bag over his shoulder, but no weapon. By now his team had flooded onto the stage, half a dozen men carrying automatic weapons, brandishing them at the audience, the stage, ordering Carson, the artist on the stage, the band, the camera crew and the stagehands all over into the small area near Blake. Pharrell was sunk into his chair, frozen in terror, and Gwen was screaming Blake's name. The Blake on the screen was ashen, his eyes fixed on Adam and still not comprehending...