by Zoicite
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"I heard that this place is haunted," the brunette simpered, her grip on Nick's arm tightening in that way that girls' grips often did when they were gripping Nick. Nick returned her unsure smile with a reassuring grin of his own, accompanied by a shrug. The girl's grip didn't loosen. It was a Wednesday evening and Howie's club wasn't nearly as crowded as it had been during some of Nick's previous visits, but not having people smashed up against each other in what was definitely some kind of breach of those occupancy rules that were stuck on walls didn't mean that the place was anything close to empty either. It just meant that Nick could breathe. Or at least, he would be able to breathe if this girl would just let go of his damn arm. "I think that's just a story," Nick said, both to get her to let go and because he'd never actually heard that tidbit of information before. "So are you guys putting out another album soon?" She asked suddenly, changing the subject completely now that it was evident that he wasn't interested in her tales. "Maybe," Nick said. "We figure when we're ready we'll know." He shrugged. He'd wondered when she'd cut to the chase. He'd seen her and her friends stalking him since he'd arrived with Howie hours earlier. He knew the type, the kind that flocked to Tabu specifically for this moment. It had taken longer than he'd figured. "Like a sign?" The girl asked, her eyebrows raised as though she thought that was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. Her grip on Nick's arm loosened. "I guess," Nick shrugged again. It wasn't what he'd meant at all, but it was easier just to go along with her. He didn't want to explain that he didn't know when there would be another album mostly because he didn't know if there would be one. They'd stopped talking about it sometime over the summer. "Do you want a drink, Carly?" "Carlene," she corrected with an emphasis on the 'n', but it was a minor error and she didn't seem offended that he hadn't gotten it perfectly right. "Carlene," he repeated. "Do you want a drink?" "You don't believe in ghosts, Nick?" she asked instead, returning to her previous thought, completely ignoring his question. She smiled with a glint of mockery that assured Nick that Carlene knew all about his fear of the dark and flying and the supernatural and whatever else Nick had told some magazine that he was afraid of at one time or another in the last eight years that anyone had actually cared. "I don't know," Nick admitted. "I'm thirsty. I'm going to head over to the bar. Do you want me to bring you anything?" Carlene's teeth were large and white, her canines a bit crooked, lending them the appearance of being much sharper than they actually were. Sharks, Nick thought. He was also afraid of sharks. "Cranberry and vodka," Carlene said. She swatted at Nick's ass as he walked away, and Nick immediately began scanning the floor for Howie. "Where the hell are you?" he breathed, looking back to see if Carlene was still watching him. She wasn't. She'd turned her back, all laced up in one of those shirts that were more like bandanas than anything else, and she seemed to be laughing with one of her girlfriends. They were all like sharks, Nick thought, and sighed. He turned away from them and his eye caught a familiar face in the crowd. A flash of sunglasses and ink. The dance floor was busy and he lost the person before he could confirm. "Looked like AJ," he muttered to himself, pushing through people and heading toward the bathrooms. Howie wasn't the easiest guy to find. He didn't particularly stick out in a crowd and his height certainly didn't help much. The bathrooms would be the easiest place, but the men's room was empty when Nick pushed his way in, the doors to the stalls hung open and the urinals stood alone. "Fuck, Howie," Nick said and pushed the swinging door hard on his way out. He noticed the handicapped unisex bathroom down the hall and to the right and tried that on the off chance that Howie might have decided he was too cool to piss with everyone else. "What are you doing?" Nick asked, when he discovered that apparently Howie had decided that he was too cool to piss with everyone else. Or to kneel in front of a toilet with everyone else anyway. Nick guessed that not many handicapped people probably came to clubs, so the bathroom seemed a little pointless other than as a private place for couples to hook up and maybe do some drugs. Howie wasn't doing either, however, instead Howie had a black Sharpie marker in his hand, the kind they all carried around to sign autographs for overexcited teenagers who never seemed to carry their own damn pens. Nick frowned and looked around the small room, shutting the door behind him. Howie turned at the sound of the closing door and sighed, relaxed visibly when he saw that it was only Nick. Nick snorted. As though Howie hadn't recognized his voice. Unless - "Hey," Nick said, leaning on the sink. "You in here doing drugs? Sniffing marker?" "What?" Howie asked, uncapping the marker. "No." "You barfing?" "I'm not even drunk, Nicky." "Okay then. I give up. What are you doing?" "I'm sticking a marker to the wall." "Okay," Nick said, leaning against the sink and looking down at Howie. "That's weird. Why?" "It's a new thing. I was talking to Walt and he mentioned it. We thought it would be cool if people could, you know, sign the wall. Leave their mark. And if it's allowed in here then it'll, you know, cut down on actual bathroom defacement and stuff like that." "Oh," Nick said. "Cool." "We think so," Howie nodded. He was starting to grow his hair out again, in preparation for going solo, Nick guessed. It was in something of an awkward in between stage. The Howie of old would have kept it held back 24/7, but this new Howie - solo Howie - let it go and it curled around his ears and framed his face. Nick thought it should look stupid, like Kevin's did when it was all layered and shit, or like Howie's did when he cut it all off but it wasn't quite short enough and he looked like Jerry Seinfeld. Howie didn't look like Seinfeld this time though. He looked like he was ready to go solo. Nick frowned, his mind drifting toward his own solo career, his second album that he'd hardly begun and was only doing now because everyone else was suddenly so busy. "Hey, someone just told me this place is haunted," Nick said, pulling himself back into the present. "Yeah," Howie said absently, "something like that, I think." "You think?" Nick asked, pushing himself away from the sink and poking at Howie's shoulder. "Some shark girl just had to tell me and you've known all along? You know I like to know these things!" "You like to know them so that you can freak out about them and enforce the buddy system and never shut up about it ever again," Howie said, dryly. "Anyway, it's just a story." "We never talk anymore," Nick griped. "You don't tell me things. And don't you have anyone else to do that marker thing for you?" "Of course I do," Howie said. "Go get me a drink, will you please?" Nick slipped out of the bathroom and made his way to the bar without incident. He caught himself looking over his shoulder and reassured himself that it had everything to do with Carlene and her shark friends and nothing to do with ghosts or haunted dance clubs. Because that would be silly, and Nick didn't believe in that shit. Unless he counted that one time in that hotel in Colorado with the 19th century dude, but Nick wasn't counting that. He and AJ were the only ones that had seen anything and they'd both gotten absolutely smashed that night. And also, Nick didn't believe in that shit. Nick ordered himself a beer and Howie a Bacardi and Coke that he only spilled a few sips of on the way back to the bathroom. He spent the rest of the evening helping Howie stick markers to walls for his 'legal graffiti test run' and made bets as to how long it would take for all of the markers to be stolen.  When Nick returned to Tabu three weeks later it was on his own. He hadn't spoken to Howie since the marker incident. The two had gone their own way when the evening ended. Howie back to his apartment. Back to recording his album and flying back and forth between Florida and LA, and Nick to his small house on the beach that he loved more than he'd ever be able to explain to anyone. He holed himself up pretending that he was in fact working on a second album rather than simply enjoying the peace and quiet. The solitude and the sun. His mother had looked at him like he was nuts when he'd told her what he wanted, penciled out the plot of land and the plans for the house himself. Nick had persisted and won. Tabu was naturally more crowded on a Saturday than it had been on a Wednesday and so far no one had recognized Nick. He talked to a few people, thought he spotted Howie at one point moving through the crowd, but gave up when he couldn't find him again. A girl, a nice normal unassuming girl, asked him to dance and he spent most of the evening with her. He made sure to get her number - Rachael from St. Petersburg - before she was dragged home by her less intoxicated friends and Nick was on his own once more. He'd probably lose the number. He was so wrapped up in the solitude and the sun. And maybe it was laziness - Nick was sure that Kevin would say so - but even a casual relationship sounded like work and Nick just wasn't up for it. No solo albums, no girlfriends. Not now. Nick moved through the club, slipping past the stage toward the bar. A DJ was set up on the stage and Nick stopped for a moment to watch him work, smiled and waved. The DJ waved back absently. Nick thought he remembered Howie telling him something about performing on that stage as a boy. The Wizard of Oz, maybe. It was the only play Nick knew of that Howie had been in. An elderly woman stood by the side of the stage. At first it looked to Nick as though she were simply surveying the crowd, but then she smiled, just a small smile, and Nick realized that it was him she was watching. Nick shivered and then smiled and waved, but her expression did not change. An elderly woman at a dance club, and it didn't seem to fit, not at all. Nick stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts, looked over his shoulder at the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, and when he turned back the woman was gone. "Weird," Nick said, and bypassed the bar completely in favor of the bathrooms. He chose the handicapped bathroom in order to check on Howie's little graffiti experiment, and when he opened the door there was Howie, markers in hand, kneeling in front of the toilet. "You're always in here," Nick said, shutting the door behind him. Howie shrugged and drew a swirl on the wall above the toilet. It made Nick think of cinnamon buns. "Your markers weren't stolen," Nick observed. "I tried to call you, but you were never home. You're not mad, right?" "What?" Howie asked. "Of course I'm not mad. Why would I be?" Nick shrugged. They all seemed to get mad about stupid shit lately. "You didn't call me either," Nick pointed out just to be safe. "Okay," Howie said, and then perfectly forged Nick's signature onto the cinnamon bun. "Hey," Nick said, leaning over Howie's shoulder and squinting. "When did you learn to do that?" Howie didn't answer, just continued on to forge AJ's name and then his own further toward the center of the swirl, complete with the trademark smiley face. Nick frowned and that was when he looked down and realized that this wasn't Howie at all. Or it was, but Howie was suddenly younger by at least five years. He wore one of the leather coats that Lou had given them when their first album had gone Platinum. His hair was slicked back and fastened at his neck and he lacked the self assurance that had somehow become ingrained in Howie since that first time his leads were all given to Nick and he started to harden within. Nick stepped back away from ghost Howie, his hands touching the wall behind him as if to ground himself. "What are you doing here?" Nick asked. "Signing the wall," Howie said. "Gotta keep the Backstreet Pride Alive, you know, stuff like that." But you're signing our names in the middle of a swirl that looks like a target, Nick thought. In a prime location to be pissed on as well. He didn't say it though and later on he couldn't believe that he was thinking about location and pissing at a time like that. "D," Nick said. Howie turned to look at him, the markers in one hand. Nick smiled and then turned and ran from the bathroom, crashing into a group of guys at the end of the hallway. "Hey!" One of them called after Nick, but Nick picked himself up and kept going, secretly praying that he wouldn't get beaten up tonight as well. On his way out he glanced back at the stage but there was no sign of the old woman that had been there watching him. Nick drove to the nearest hotel and paid for a room in cash. He threw his wallet and his cellphone on the bed, rinsed his face in the bathroom, and sighed, running a damp hand through his hair. "What the fuck," Nick muttered. He turned the air conditioning on and picked up the phone from the bed, hitting 3 on speed dial and tapping his finger against his knee impatiently. "Come on," he said. "Come on." "Your fucking club!" Nick spat when Howie finally picked up his phone on the twelfth ring. "Nick? What about it?" "I was in Orlando so I stopped by because I thought I might run into you or something. I called your apartment earlier but you weren't there, and where are you anyway? LA?" "Yeah," Howie said. "Nicky, what about my club? Did you get arrested again? You better not have trashed the place." "What? No," Nick said. "Howie. Howie, your fucking club is fucking haunted." "It is not," Howie said, and Nick could tell that his brow was creased on the other end of the line, on the other side of the country. "That's just a bunch of - it's a story, Nick." "Not anymore it's not," Nick said. "I saw it. There was this woman, old, and old women don't usually go to dance clubs, Howie. She was wearing, like she was a grandmother, man. Like a gray dress with white lace at the neck and school teacher hair. Hey, she might even have been a nun, Howie." "Nuns don't haunt theaters, Nicky. They haunt churches and orphanages and you're drunk, aren't you." "No, not really, no. I had a few drinks, but I'm not drunk. I'm not finished, Howie. Howie, shut up and listen." "Stop saying my name. And maybe it was someone's grandmother. You don't know." "It wasn't, I know it wasn't, but that's not the weird part. Let me get to the weird part." "What's the weird part?" "You! I saw you in the damn bathroom with the markers! Only it was you from like '97, man! and you were signing our names on the wall with the Sharpies, but it was you, Howie. You were wearing the leather jacket and everything." "So you're not drunk," Howie said, hardly missing a beat. "Did you take any drugs?" "Howie! No!" Howie always had to rationalize everything. The time in the hotel in Colorado, that was blamed on alcohol and drugs too. They'd all been only too happy to accept that explanation the first time around, but Nick knew he wasn't trashed this time, and he definitely would know if he'd done drugs. "Maybe someone slipped you something." "I think I would know." "That's sort of why people slip it," Howie reasoned. "So you don't know." "I don't - maybe," Nick said, because it wasn't like it was impossible. "You should be more careful," Howie said. "You know you're supposed to be careful. Just because it's my club doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful." "I know all that," Nick said. He pulled Rachael's number from his back pocket, unfolding it and staring at the numbers written there. "I don't think - you were there. It didn't feel like something I was making up in my head." "But I wasn't there, Nick. I don't even have that leather jacket anymore. We auctioned them off, remember?" "Yeah," Nick said. "Okay, I guess - Yeah. I guess someone must have put something in my drink or something. I do feel kind of funny now that you said that." "I'm sure it's not anything too horrible. Just sleep it off, Nicky. And be more careful." "Okay," Nick said. He hung up on Howie without saying goodbye. Instead he typed in Rachael's phone number - the number he'd completely intended to lose. No one answered. Nick figured she must have lied about the number or something. He'd done it so many times, but couldn't recall anyone ever getting him at his own game. First time for everything. "She fuckin' drugged me," he muttered, crumbling up the paper and tossing it onto the carpet. She'd seemed normal, but Nick supposed that he should have known better. Backstreet Boys didn't meet 'normal' girls in clubs. It didn't work that way. Backstreet Boys met sharks. Nick entered his house, leaving the door open behind him so that the salt air and the sound of the waves followed him in. The house was quiet, exactly as he left it, though perhaps a little cleaner. Beverly must have stopped by. Nick never remembered what day of the week she usually made the rounds. He went through the house, systematically opening every window that he passed and then the backdoor as well. It was still early and the sun was high. The open house would probably attract a few bugs, but it was worth it. Besides, Nick had a flyswatter. The last window that Nick opened was in his bedroom and he collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, breathing deeply of the sea air that now permeated every room. Nick didn't think it could be possible to love a home any more than he loved this one. Let his parents live in the large house. Let them give Aaron the entire first floor. Nick didn't want that anymore. Nick wanted nothing more than to be lying there on his back atop his blue gray comforter, staring at the wooden beams criss-crossing the high ceiling and breathing in the cool ocean breeze. Nick had never felt more at peace. He'd attempted to get a hold of Rachael again that morning but she still wasn't picking up. And anyway, Nick felt better in the morning sun, figured that whatever it was had worn off, and started the several hour car trip home. Nick closed his eyes and sighed, worn out after the drive. When he next opened them the sun was streaming in through the west windows and Brian was shaking his arm. "What?" Nick asked, concerned. He wiped at his eyes and tried to focus, his contacts dry and uncomfortable. "Wake up," Brian said. The mattress shifted as Brian sat down beside him. Nick blinked a few more times. "What are you doing here?" "We have a concert in an hour," Brian said. "Kev sent me to wake you up." "We do not. Bri, I haven't even seen you in months, man." Brian shrugged and Nick squinted, taking a good look at Brian. Brian stared back and then smiled. One of his cheesy grins that became more special as they became more rare. Nick smiled back. Brian glanced toward the window and frowned. "It's too cold to have the windows open. You'll get sick." "You should have told me you were coming," Nick said. They never used to tell each other when they were planning to drop by in the early years, but then, they all lived in the same city then too. The same state. Brian shrugged again and pushed Nick over and climbed into bed beside him, crossing his hands over his chest and staring up at the ceiling. "I'm a little nervous about next week," Brian admitted. "What's next week?" Nick asked. The wind had picked up a bit and the blinds on the windows rattled. He could hear the crash of the surf not too far off. "The surgery," Brian said, his accent thicker than Nick had heard it in awhile. "I feel fine now and I think that makes it scarier, you know?" Nick paused and then turned on his side to look down at Brian. Brian blinked up at him, shifting on the bed. The sun caught the gold of Brian's B-Rok pendant and reflected back at Nick, causing him to shield his eyes with a hand. He pulled his head away and he was alone in bed. "Brian?" Nick asked, sitting up on the bed. He looked back down at the comforter but he'd been moving around and he couldn't tell if the wrinkles in the cloth reflected one person or two. The sun was threatening to slip over the horizon and Nick climbed out of bed, began systematically shutting all of the windows and doors. He saw no signs that anyone else had been there. It wasn't until he was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a Coke that he remembered what Brian had said. It wasn't until he felt the sting of carbonation in his nose that he remembered that Brian had stopped wearing that basketball pendant years ago. "Fuck," Nick said, setting down the can. He shifted in his chair and the bamboo creaked under his weight. His heart was beating a little faster now. "Fuck," he said again and reached for the phone. Leighanne answered after the third ring. "Is Brian all right? Let me talk to him?" "Nick? Is that you? He's fine." "Let me talk to him," Nick insisted, not willing to take Leighanne's word. Brian from years ago had been there, not in some haunted club but in his own home, and he'd spoken of his heart. "He's fine, Nick. Here he is." Nick's fingers ached from the grip he had on the phone. "Hello?" Brian asked, confusion clear in his voice. Nick sighed. "Brian," he said. "Hey, man. What's up?" Nick could hear the baby crying in the background. The baby that he still hadn't met because he was too busy with his boat and his new house and the second album he was pretending to put together. He'd been far too busy to visit his best friend's firstborn. "You're not sick are you? You're not - you would tell us if you weren't okay," Nick said, not sure anymore. A few years ago it was a question he wouldn't have had to ask. Of course Brian would tell him if something was wrong, if there was some kind of unforeseen complication, if he wasn't feeling well. But they didn't talk to each other anymore. Not like they used to and so Nick couldn't be sure. "Of course I would," Brian said softly. "I'm fine, Nick." "And the baby? He's okay?" Brian was quiet for a minute. "Baylee's great. Happy and healthy. Nick, what's wrong with you? You're scaring me." Nick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, brushed his hair back off his forehead. "It's nothing," he said finally. "I thought I - someone slipped something in my drink the other day. Some nasty shit, I guess. It must still be messing me up." Brian was quiet on the other end of the line. Nick thought for a moment that the connection had been lost, but he could still hear Leighanne and the baby in the background. "Nick," Brian said, a touch of Kevin suddenly in his voice. Nick frowned. "You said you weren't - God, Nick. You can't call me up and just tell me this like it's nothing." "What do you mean? Brian, I'm not doing that shit anymore. You know I'm not. I told you." But were words enough anymore? Did words really mean anything when they hadn't seen one another in months? "Ask Howie," he added. Brian wouldn't ask Howie, but they both knew that Howie didn't lie about shit like that. Howie added credibility. Brian sighed. "Okay," he said, accepting Nick's words. "I worry about you." "I'm not doing that shit anymore," Nick said again. The beach was dark through the windows. They dropped it after that and instead Brian told Nick about Baylee and the album he had in the works, of the songs he'd already written. Nick pretended that he was making as much progress on his own album and instead spoke of his brother, of his sisters and his boat. An hour later he hung up the phone. Nick left the light on when he finally crawled back into bed. The sand was only slightly warm beneath his feet. It was autumn sand and even in Florida that meant something. Still, it didn't stop Nick from wearing shorts even though his mother had already pulled out her winter wardrobe and shut off all the air conditioners. She frowned at his bare legs, at his bare feet, and crossed her arms over her chest. Another reason that Nick said thanks everyday for living so far from the main house. He brushed some sand from the notebook on his lap and reread what he'd written. There was nothing wrong with collaborations and if you were a singer then Nick saw nothing wrong with having someone else write your songs every once in awhile. Singers weren't somehow lesser artists than singer/songwriters, that was just stupid. And songwriters who couldn't sing. Didn't they still deserve to be heard? It was one of the dumber debates Nick had found himself up against and one that he knew he probably wouldn't win. Nevertheless, Nick had loved writing songs for his first album. He wasn't great at it, he knew he wasn't. Not yet. But he'd loved them as much, if not more, than the songs that other more talented people had written for him. So far he hated everything he'd written for his second album. He'd worked a little with Snow and he'd worked a bit with Tommy Lee and yet he wasn't happy with a damn thing he'd produced. Wait for it, he told himself, instead occupying himself with other things. A movie, his brother, his boat. Wait for it. He'd given people tentative deadlines but it was already late October and he knew he wouldn't meet any of them. Backstreet time, he thought. They were always more ambitious in their heads. The sea was quiet, the waves rolling to shore instead of crashing and Nick looked up from the lines he'd scratched out and the sketches he'd drawn in the corners and instead watched a cluster of sailboats just offshore, their sails bright against the blue of the sky. He jumped and dropped his pencil in the sand when his cellphone began vibrating in the back pocket of his shorts. "Fuck," he said and then chuckled when he realized what it was. He slipped the phone from his back pocket, flipping it open and leaning back on one arm as he answered. "Yeah?" "Yo, Nick," AJ said on the other end. Nick recognized his voice instantly. They might not talk as often as they used to but Nick wouldn't ever forget their voices. "What's up, bro?" he asked, folding his arm and lowering himself in the sand until he was staring up at the blue sky. He slipped his free arm back to prop up his head, but he could already feel the sand in his hair. "Howie says you've been hallucinating," AJ said, getting right to the point. Nick rolled his eyes, "That was like last week, dawg," he said, squinting as the sun crept out from behind a cloud. "Yeah," AJ said. "Bet you haven't slept in the dark since." Nick snorted but didn't answer. "So, what? You going nuts out in that little shack of yours or something? Should I be worried about you?" "Don't be an ass." "I'm just saying, if it comes down to it, you come to me. I'll gladly have you committed." "I'm not crazy," Nick said. "It was a ghost or something." "Howie's not dead." "What about that time in Colorado?" Nick asked. He didn't mean to accuse AJ but it came out that way nonetheless. "Nick. Remember the shit we took that night? I don't remember what it was, do you? LSD or some shit? Shit like that, Nick, that shit causes hallucinations." "It wasn't a hallucination. You saw it too." "Kevin thinks you're on drugs." "What?" Nick said, his voice a little louder than he had meant it to be. "Kevin knows too? Did Howie tell everyone? What, you're all having conference calls about me behind my back now?" "Howie just told me," AJ corrected. "I told everyone. Kevin came to conclusions on his own with a little help from Brian." "I don't do that shit anymore," Nick said. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and picked at the corner of the notebook in his lap, dug his toes further into the sand and squinted out at the horizon. "I know," AJ admitted, dropping the funny man routine. "I wasn't hallucinating. I don't think it had anything to do with drugs at all." He'd been thinking about it for a week. About Howie in the bathroom and Brian in his bed, about the old woman on the stage, and the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that it had actually happened, that it wasn't in his head at all. He couldn't remember ever leaving his drink unattended and that girl, what was her name? Rachael. She didn't seem like the type to be slipping things in anyone's drinks. And if she had, Nick doubted she would have let her friends lead her out of there so easily, leaving him behind completely. "So you're just fucking nutty then," AJ concluded. "Fuck you, man," Nick said, laughing a little in spite of it all. "Fuck you." Two weeks after Brian dropped by for a visit, once Nick had finally stopped watching his back, he walked in from the beach to find Kevin sitting at his kitchen table. This time he knew exactly what was going on, knew that Kevin was in Los Angeles. And anyway, Kevin looked a hell of a lot different at 32 than he did at 27. "Hi," Nick said, dropping his sandals by the door. He felt his heart racing and pressed a hand to his chest. It was only Kevin. It was only fucking Kevin. Kevin seemed to be staring intently at his hands but he looked up when Nick spoke. "Hey," he said. Nick slipped past him and opened the fridge, pulled out a beer. It was only two in the afternoon, but fuck it, the ghost of his very much alive brother was sitting at his kitchen table. He deserved a drink. He stared at Kevin's back for a minute, but he couldn't find anything that gave Kevin away. He looked as real as the table, as real as the chair he sat on. Nick could even see Kevin's reflection in the glass table top. "Do you want anything?" he asked, his hand on still on the fridge. "Nah," Kevin shook his head but didn't turn to look at Nick. Nick shrugged and shuffled through a drawer, pulled out a bottle opener. He opened his beer, took a long drink, and then slipped into the chair next to Kevin. Kevin eyed Nick's beer and then looked up at him frowning. "You shouldn't be drinking that. Where did you get it?" "Howie," Nick said, playing along. "Howie gave you a beer?" Kevin asked, he tapped his knuckles on the table. "Sure," Nick shrugged and took another sip. "So what, are you like some kind of weird spirit or something? Are you going to tell me my future?" Kevin's eyebrows furrowed. "No. I just don't think you should be drinking beer." He said it slower this time as though spelling out his meaning. He did that a lot - the real Kevin. Nick hated it. "Don't be a shit, Nick." Nick laughed. "Yeah, okay," he said. Kevin sighed. He stood from the table. Nick watched as the backs of Kevin's thighs pushed the chair along the floor, the bamboo scratching against the tiles. He watched Kevin's reflection in the glass of the table. It was all so convincing except that Kevin's hair was a little longer and parted in the middle and his face was a little smoother, his eyebrows a bit more unruly. "About what I said before, Nick," Kevin started, his hands clasped behind his back. "What?" "I know what you like to think, and I know I blew up, but Nick. Deep down we both know that this isn't going to last forever." "What isn't?" "Us. The Boys." Nick frowned. They'd had this argument before, the two of them. Several times over the years. "Sure we are," Nick said. "We'll always be Backstreet Boys." "Everything ends," Kevin said, shaking his head. Nick frowned and watched Kevin pace. He didn't realize that he was shaking until he reached for the beer bottle and nearly knocked it over. Nick breathed deeply, trying to maintain control. He took another long drink from the bottle in his hand and reminded himself once again that this wasn't really Kevin. That it wasn't actually Kevin saying these things to him. Not this time anyway. "Are you threatening me?" Nick asked, finally. If it wasn't Kevin then it sounded an awful lot like a threat. Kevin smiled and moved to stand behind Nick, his hands on Nick's shoulders. "Brat," he said, and shuffled Nick's hair, his fingers scratching at Nick's scalp a little. There was no anger in Kevin's voice. None. Instead there was a kind of brotherly indulgence, a kind of pride that Nick knew well even though Kevin thought that he kept it hidden. "You're a spoiled brat," Kevin said again, and Nick could almost hear his smile. Kevin released his shoulders and Nick knew without turning that Kevin was gone. Nick waited two days before breaking down and calling Howie again. "It wasn't drugs," he said before Howie even had the chance to say hello. He hadn't been sleeping, the light didn't help anymore, and his house, the house that he loved more than anything had him jumping at every strange little noise. Even now he chose to sit out front in the sunshine rather than indoors. "What wasn't drugs?" Howie asked, his voice muffled as though Nick had just woken him up. Nick glanced at his watch. It was noon. Nick had no idea what coast Howie was even on this week. "The ghosts," Nick said, and then cringed because ghost implied that the fellas were dead. "Spirits, I don't know what they are but they aren't from drugs." "Me in the bathroom?" Howie asked as though he'd just put together what Nick was talking about. Nick plucked at a clump of dry grass. "Yes, yes. You in the bathroom. Brian in my bedroom. Kevin in the kitchen. Kevin was two weeks after you guys. I haven't done any drugs, Howie." "This happened to you more than once?" "That's what I'm telling you!" Nick cried, exasperated. He hated yelling at Howie and he instantly felt bad. He wasn't thinking straight. He hadn't been able to think at all for days. "Nicky, maybe you should go see someone." "I'm not crazy," Nick retorted a little too quickly. "I didn't say you were," Howie countered patiently. "It's your club, Howie. There's something there. And it followed me home." Nick whispered the last part, his hand cupping the receiver, just in case. "Those are just stories. It was a theatre, Nick. All theatres have stories like that." "Yeah, well, fuck that. I'm calling an emergency meeting." "What for?" "Because I'm starting to get fucking scared! This is messing me up! I'm sneaking around my own house. I can't sleep, I'm just as much afraid of daylight as I've always been of the dark, and I just. Howie, I need to see you guys. We haven't been together since March and now this shit and I need you here." "Nicky -" "I'm calling an emergency meeting. Next week. You're not doing anything important. None of you are. I know you aren't. I need to see you." Nick hung up the phone. He had to call the others and when he'd convinced them all that he needed this, he needed them here, then he'd call Howie back. Though he protested, Howie never really needed convincing. Kevin and AJ wouldn't arrive until later. Kevin had rented a car. Howie just had to drive over from his apartment, and Nick picked Brian up at the airport. They were meeting at Tabu. Nick thought it was the best place to talk about this since that was where it began. Maybe if the fellas were there, if they felt what Nick felt, they'd believe him more readily. The club was closed on Sundays so they would have the place to themselves. "What's going on Nick?" Brian asked in the car. "AJ thinks you've gone off the deep end. Kevin thinks you're doing drugs again and I don't know what to think." "I haven't gone off the deep end," Nick insisted. "And I'm not doing that shit again. I've told you guys. This is real. You're haunting me." Brian frowned and was quiet the rest of the way to the club. Nick unlocked the back entrance to Tabu with the key that Howie had gotten for him the day before. The back hallways were dark and empty. He passed the bathrooms and then the handicapped bathroom with Brian close behind him and eventually they entered the main room of the club. It looked enormous without people pressing against him on every side, the colors looked duller. Blacks and reds, purples and gold, and they all looked like they'd been splashed with a wash of brown. "Why are we meeting here again?" Brian asked, and his voice echoed in the empty room. "Cause this is where it started," Nick said. "Cause this way you might actually believe me." Brian strolled across the room, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his denim jacket. He reached the bar and turned back toward Nick, rocking on the balls of his feet and pursing his lips. Nick shrugged. It was awkward, the two of them. They never used to be awkward. Brian checked his watch and then tapped his fingers on the bar, pulled out a stool and sat down. Nick crossed the room and sat beside him. "So," Brian said finally, breaking the silence so abruptly that Nick nearly fell off his stool. "How have you been?" "I've been okay. Busy," Nick lied. "You're working on your album," Brian nodded. "Do you think Howie would mind if I made myself a drink?" Nick asked, craning to look over the edge of the bar. Brian shrugged and they busied themselves by taking bar inventory, pulling out their favorites, raiding the ice chest. They'd just finished making their drinks - gin and tonic for Brian and vodka tonic for Nick - when they heard the back door slam and Howie strolled into the room a minute later. "Hey, guys," Howie said, crossing the room and enveloping Brian in a one armed hug. Nick had no idea when the last time they'd seen each other was. Howie was much better at making the rounds then the rest of them. Nick took a sip of his drink and then looked Howie up and down, his gaze catching on the box beneath Howie's other arm. "You brought a Ouija Board?" Nick asked. Howie shrugged. "It seemed appropriate." "I'm not playing games, Howie," Nick said. "I'm kind of scared here, okay?" "Nick," Brian warned, and Nick wanted to hit him. Brian was supposed to be on Nick's side. It was like Brian's job. Instead Nick clenched his fist, took a deep breath, and sat back down on his stool. "I just got off the phone with AJ," Howie said, watching Nick. "They're on their way over from the airport." Brian nodded and Nick sighed. "I forgot how big this place looks when there are no people in it," Howie commented, setting the Ouija board down on the bar. "You're a little bit fucking nuts, you know that?" AJ said, stalking into the club with his hands full of grocery bags. "Fuck you, I'm not crazy," Nick said. He was on his second drink now. Brian and Howie were joking around with the Ouija board. It wasn't funny, not at all, and Nick wasn't in love with Kevin no matter what that dumb ass board said. "I didn't say crazy," AJ corrected. AJ set the bags down on the bar beside the Ouija board. He pulled a container of mixed nuts from one of the bags and shook it, grinning. "I said nuts." Howie laughed and AJ patted his back, looking over his shoulder at the Ouija board. "Ooh," he said, adopting a lisp. "Later can we play light as a feather, stiff as a board?" He held up his hands, his index and middle fingers extended and then waved them in front of Nick's face. Nick rolled his eyes. This was a bad idea. Kevin arrived then with his arms full of sleeping bags and blankets. "What are those for?" Nick asked. "We're spending the night," Kevin said, dropping everything in a corner. "Um. I booked us suites down the street," Nick pointed out. "You're all caught up in something. It's either in your head or there's something you're not telling us. Howie says it started after you found out the club was haunted. We're spending the night and you're going to get over it." "No fucking way," Nick said. Kevin had pulled this shit before. He'd tried to get Nick to jump in a tank of sharks once insisting that it was perfectly safe, and he'd attempted to trick Nick into skydiving until Nick found out and punched him in the stomach. Nick didn't know where Kevin got this shit from, why Kevin took it upon himself to rid Nick of all his little fears. It was like he'd taken a class in how to be an older brother or something, but he'd failed and become some kind of crackhead counselor instead. "Sleepover," AJ said, nodding. He started pulling chips and soda from the grocery bags, setting them on the bar. By ten o'clock Nick was regretting ever calling the meeting in the first place. They'd set up the sleeping bags on the stage and Nick had given them detailed accounts of each time he'd seen one of them. He told them about the time he'd seen the woman on the stage. "Maybe you were asleep," Brian suggested. "Dreaming, and you only think it really happened." Nick shook his head. He'd taken that into consideration and it fit, but it only fit one of four instances. After awhile they'd drifted into other topics of conversation. Kevin's Chicago run in London, which he'd just recently returned from, AJ's string of girlfriends that he never found fit enough to introduce any of them to, Howie's ever changing hair, and Brian's baby. Howie nudged Nick. "You need to see him, Nicky. He looks just like Brian." "I've seen pictures," Nick said, quietly. Brian was watching him, but Nick wouldn't meet his gaze. Nick was the only one of them that had yet to meet Baylee. The only one. It was kind of funny, really. He would have thought he'd be the first. By midnight, Nick was starting to feel trapped. Even with lights on the empty club was dark, the air smelled stale, corners were sticky. Nick missed his bright little house, the sand in his hair and the salt breeze, and he'd hardly been gone an entire day. He fell asleep with his head resting on Brian's chest around one, Brian's heartbeat loud in his ear. Brian stroked his hair and Nick thought he could hear the surf hitting the beach outside his window and he dozed off. He couldn't have been asleep more than half an hour before the rumble in Brian's chest woke him up. They were talking. He heard AJ's abrasive cackle somewhere further off, but Brian and Kevin were there and Brian's voice was amplified in Nick's ear. Brian's hand still stroked Nick's hair. "Sometimes I feel like we're broken," Brian was admitting. He kept his voice soft, presumably because he thought Nick still slept. "We're just not ready," Kevin said. "I was busy, we're all busy, and there's the baby -" "Those are excuses," Brian said. "They were true in the beginning, but now they're just convenient excuses." Nick opened his eyes. He looked over at Kevin in time to see him shrug. "We're growing up," Kevin said, as though he wasn't already in his early thirties, as though he'd just gone through puberty yesterday. It wasn't true. Nick knew what the truth was. He knew that really, he was the one that had broken them. They'd been fine. A little high strung, a little intense, but that was the way they worked. And he'd lied and then he'd disappeared, run away, and Kevin had been right when he'd said that Nick wasn't ready. Nick hadn't been, but he'd done it anyway and things hadn't been the same since. The trust was gone. "I was afraid of change," Nick said, sitting up and turning to look at Brian. "What?" Brian asked, his hand still caught in Nick's hair. "I haven't come to see Baylee because that makes it real and I'm afraid of how you've changed." "Nick," Brian said, his eyes softer than they had been all evening. "We're all changing. We've all changed." "I know," Nick said. "I thought that, like, I could press pause, you know? If I pressed pause and took a break and did my own thing that you'd all still be there, be the same when I came back. But you all changed anyway. I kind of feel like I'll never get you back now." "Of course we did," Kevin said, and Nick could hear him saying it. 'Everything ends.' He didn't say it this time though, instead he said, "We change, Nick. It's part of life. But we still love you, even when we're mad at you, even when you drive me absolutely insane, we love you. And we'll always be Backstreet Boys." "You should come and stay with me for awhile," Brian offered. "I don't know," Nick said, thinking about his little secluded house and his notebook with all the lyrics crossed out. "Nick," Kevin said. "You're going home with Brian." It was said in a tone that pretty much guaranteed that Nick would try to retaliate, a tone that instantly caused Nick to become annoyed and indignant, and it still worked, but Nick looked at Brian and he felt it dissipate just as quickly. Brian was watching him hopefully, his eyes shining, a small smile on his face. He hadn't changed that much, Nick knew. He was suddenly sure of it. He'd grown up, sure. Brian had matured, but Brian wasn't leaving him behind. It was something that Nick should have figured out years ago, something that he'd never quite grasped. Nick still had a chunk of Brian's life that Brian would never be willing to let go of. Yes, he had a baby now, but what better than a baby to bring the kid out in someone? "Okay," Nick said. He shifted on the sleeping bag, attempted to become comfortable. "Fuck, this stage is hard." Kevin laughed and AJ jumped up onto the stage, standing over Nick. "You know, if you're the first to fall asleep we're going to freeze your underwear," AJ pointed out. Nick kicked at AJ's legs, and eventually AJ had enough and sat on Nick's stomach. "God," Nick choked out, halfheartedly attempting to push him off. "You're not light, you know." "I know," AJ said, sliding off Nick to sit beside him on the stage. "Where's Howie?" Brian asked. AJ shrugged. "Bathroom." They were quiet for a while after that, Kevin was flipping through a stack of albums. Brian, AJ, and Nick sprawled out on the stage, taking up as much space as possible while still remaining in contact with one another. It was calming, but when Howie didn't return Nick started to get nervous. "I'm going to find him," he announced, standing up on the stage. "He's probably taking a shit," AJ said, matter of fact. "It hasn't been that long." Nick stood on the edge of the stage and looked out at the empty club, the piles of food on the bar, the Ouija board discarded on one of the booths. He hadn't felt a thing since they'd arrived. It was creepy and dark, sure, but it was nothing like walking into his own sun-filled home to find Not Kevin sitting at his kitchen table. His heart wasn't racing, there were no chills or cold drafts like he'd read about on the Internet. They were spending a night in an empty club and it was exactly that. Empty. Still, there was no way in hell that Nick was walking those hallways on his own. "You're coming with me," Nick said, reaching for AJ, yanking him up from the stage. AJ shrugged and followed Nick down the steps to the dance floor. "So how come you didn't see me?" AJ asked as they headed in the general direction of the bathrooms? "What?" Nick asked, his eyes focused on the dark hallway. "You saw Howie, Kevin, Brian, and some old woman. What about me?" "I did see you," Nick said. He paused, and blinked. "I saw you here." "You didn't mention it before." "I just remembered." "What did I say?" AJ asked, following Nick towards the bathrooms. Nick frowned. "You didn't say anything. I lost you in the crowd and I wasn't even sure it was actually you until just now." "Huh," AJ said, pushing open the door to the men's room and poking his head in. "It's empty." "Howie doesn't like to go with other people," Nick said, continuing on to the handicapped bathroom. He knocked and Howie answered from the other side. When they pushed into the bathroom they saw Howie kneeling before the toilet with a marker in his hand. "Are you okay?" AJ asked, rubbing his tattoo lined arms. "Yeah, fine," Howie said with a shrug. "We were starting to worry," Nick pointed out. "Nick," Howie sighed. "There are no ghosts here." "Maybe," Nick conceded. There seemed to be no ghosts tonight anyway. "What are you doing?" AJ asked, leaning against the sink and waving a hand at the marker that Howie held in his. "Signing the wall," Howie said. He gestured to the space above the toilet where he'd drawn a swirl that reminded Nick of a cinnamon bun. He signed his name on the cinnamon bun and then handed the marker over to Nick. "You're not making this up to hide the fact that you're in here sniffing permanent marker?" AJ asked suspiciously. Nick signed the cinnamon bun in exactly the same spot he'd seen Howie forge his signature several weeks earlier. He handed the marker to AJ. AJ looked at it disdainfully, then back at the wall. "You guys know you're signing it in the perfect location for people to piss all over us," AJ pointed out. Nick laughed. "That's what I thought at first too," he said. "People don't really use this bathroom," Howie added, but AJ looked at the messages scratched all over the walls and Nick could tell that AJ thought Howie was full of shit. He crouched down beside Howie anyway, signing his name further toward the center of the cinnamon bun. "I'm gonna go get Kev and Bri," Howie said, standing and slipping out of the bathroom. AJ turned to look at Nick. "He drew a target above a toilet and is making us sign it. What's up with that?" AJ asked. "I really think he might have been sniffing this marker in here." Nick shrugged. "He's keeping the Backstreet Pride Alive." The wall had been signed, the circle was complete, and the five settled on the stage, sprawled out on sleeping bags and cushions. It was late. Early. Nearly six. The sun was probably rising but there were no windows so it was impossible to know for sure. They were quiet, caffeine buzzes and alcohol and threats of frozen underwear all dying. Nick stared up at the lights and the cat walks concealed above the stage. They hadn't been taken out when it was reverted into a club. Every once in awhile someone would break the silence with a comment or a revelation. Once Howie began snoring, but stopped soon after AJ plugged his nose and woke him up. "You should all come and spend a week with me in Atlanta," Brian said. "Like a big family reunion." They'd all agreed eventually, making plans to join Nick and Brian in Georgia after Kevin and Howie settled up some loose business things while they were in Orlando. Nick hadn't seen or felt anything the entire night, but he'd never been more convinced that what he had seen here and at home had been real. There was something here, and it had followed him home, but he wasn't so much afraid anymore. He didn't think it would happen again. "I'm not working on my album," Nick said, quietly "You're not?" Howie asked from somewhere on his right. Nick blinked at the ceiling. "Not really. I mean, I've worked on it, but I'm not ready. I'm trashing everything I've done so far. It's not what I want." "You said it was going well," Brian said. His side was pressed against the top of Nick's head. Nick could still feel his heartbeat, just faintly. "I lied," Nick admitted. "I don't even want to do a solo album right now. Not another one. I just said that because you guys said you didn't think we were ready, and you were ready the first time but I wasn't. It seemed only fair, so I went along with it." "Oh," Brian said. Nick thought he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, but he turned and it was just Kevin adjusting on his sleeping bag. Nick sighed and turned back to the ceiling, running a hand between his head and Brian's side to smooth down his hair. "I'm not working on a solo album either," AJ said. "I just told people I was to get them off my back." "I've written a song for mine, but that's pretty much it," Brian admitted. "I've been too preoccupied with Baylee and Leigh." "I'm actually working on mine," Howie said sheepishly, as though it was suddenly something to be ashamed of. "But only because I thought all of you were. I'm going to make a horrible solo artist. I just don't know what else to do." "You are not," Kevin countered, and the others piped up in agreement. "You'll be huge," Nick smiled. "It'll be like that time in Rio wherever you go, man." "Yeah, sure," Howie said, but he was smiling, Nick could tell. "Well," Kevin said, breathing deeply. "I never pretended I was doing an album." "How honest and wise of you, oh eldest of us all," AJ said in a deep mocking bravado. Nick heard skin hit skin and then AJ grunted a little. "Whatever," AJ grumbled. "Maybe we should stop making excuses," Kevin suggested. "I can't speak for you fellas, but I've gotten whatever it was out of my system. I could get behind another go." "There are some great studios in Atlanta," Brian pointed out. "We can at least go over the stuff we'd put together before our break and see where we stand." "We're working during our big reunion now?" AJ asked. Kevin smacked him again and he added, "Fucking quit it. You know I'm kidding. I miss being a Backstreet Boy." Nick saw the flickering in his peripheral vision again. He turned his head expecting to see Kevin and AJ goofing off, but instead he saw AJ standing in the wings, grinning at him. His head was shaved and his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Nick froze, forgetting to breath until he felt Brian move against him. His gaze shifted to the real AJ, lying on the floor beside Kevin, his fingers twisting the hem of the t-shirt he wore. Howie was talking about putting his solo effort on hold for a bit. "It's mostly done anyway," he reasoned. "I guess, I can always release it and just not tour right away, maybe. I don't know. I want to do this. I'll work something out, I guess -" Howie's voice trailed off and Nick looked back up toward the wings but AJ was gone. Instead the elderly woman that he'd seen weeks ago stood there. She wore the same gray dress, had the same white lace at her neck and she stared at Nick with the same look on her face as she had that night. She was smiling, a small smile, not wide and white like AJ's had been. This smile looked like satisfaction. Nick smiled back, nodded in acknowledgment. He kept staring until Brian poked his shoulder hard. "Nick," he said. "Howie's been trying to talk to you for like a minute, man." "What are you looking at?" Howie asked. Nick looked from Brian to Howie, then over toward AJ and Kevin who were also staring at him. When he looked up again the wings were empty. "Are you okay?" Brian asked, concerned. "Yeah," Nick said, smiling. He nodded for emphasis and settled back down on the stage, his head pressed against Brian's stomach. Brian brushed a hand over his forehead, and Howie went on discussing schedules and ideas with Kevin. Nick closed his eyes and just listened to their comforting chatter. "I'm good," he said. 
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