"And that does it for this video! Thank you so much for watching, if you LIKED it, PUNCH that like button..." Jack's sentence trailed off as he felt an odd feeling throughout his body. He had felt it earlier in the video as well, but he'd shrugged it off, not really paying much attention to it. Now it returned. His heart rate quickened, he felt a stabbing pain in his head, and an overall sense of uneasiness, restlessness, washed over him. Jack squeezed the sides of his head, eyes clenched shut as he fought back this all-too-familiar pain.
As the pain subsided a bit, Jack jumped up and ran to the kitchen. He knew he didn't have long until the next wave. How could he have forgotten? He'd been able to keep things consistent for the past seven years. The last time he'd forgotten... Jack shook his head at the thought and threw open the medicine cabinet, snatching up an orange pill bottle and unscrewing the cap. He stared down at it in shock for a few moments.
Empty.
He was really starting to panic now as he cursed and threw the small container across the room. Calm down, he told himself as he began to reach into the back of the cabinet. Just got to find the backup-. The Irishman quickly retracted his hand and cried out as an intense pain coursed through his head. He was given no choice but to slide down to the floor and clutch his head in his hands, guttural cries escaping his lips at the unbearable agony.
"What's wrong, Jackaboy?"
Jack froze. He'd recognize that god-awful voice anywhere. Wide-eyed, he looked around him in denial, refusing to believe it was true. It couldn't be.
"Long time, no see," the voice continued with a chuckle.
"No," Jack shook his head. "This can't be happening. This is not happenin' right now."
Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed loudly. It seemed to echo off the walls with pure insanity. The involuntary outburst ended as quickly as it had started and Jack clamped a hand to his mouth, shaking his head furiously as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
"My, my, Jackaboy. Have you really gotten this soft over the years? At least put some effort into it. C'mon, fight me," the voice taunted.
Jack couldn't think straight. He flooded with panic, breath quickening, chest heaving. I've got to get help, he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment, slowed his breathing, and began to crawl forward. If I can just get to my phone-.
"I don't think so, Séan, came the inevitable response. Another searing pain shot through Jack's head and he fell to the floor with an audible thud. He felt like his head would explode any moment now. Sobbing, he squeezed the sides of his head as he lie curled up on the cold kitchen floor, trying to relieve the pressure in his skull. Unbeknownst to the boy, too distracted by the pain to notice, a small, involuntary smile crept onto his face.
As the smile faded, so did the pain, and Jack immediately jumped up and ran to his recording room where he hoped to god his phone would be. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the small black device on his desk. He immediately turned on the cellphone and tapped the "contacts" icon, scrolling to the M's and tapping what he thinks, through his blurry, tear-filled vision says "Mom."
On the other side of the world, in Los Angeles, California, a man with firetruck-red hair answered an unexpected phone call from his Irish friend.