Fandemonium
By Cassidy McKenzie
Shirley Partridge was having a horrific nightmare. There was no other explanation for it.
Except reality.
The group was playing the Los Angeles Coliseum; the type of venue that Keith had always disliked the most. It was too free, too chaotic, he would always say. He felt too vulnerable up there on the stage while thousands of screaming fans were pushing and shoving their way to get at him. He had to take extra precautions to keep from accidentally joining them; and he was getting pretty deft at it. He knew that they really didn't mean any harm; they were just excited, but jeez, a guy could really get hurt if he let his guard down. He loved playing up to the crowd; playing cat and mouse, if you will. The vibes from all that screaming and seeing the pure unadulterated love on the girls' faces gave him a sort of sexual connection to them and they loved it, as did he. But he always managed to remain just one step ahead of them at all times. Except for now.
They were in the middle of "I Can Feel Your Heartbeat," and Keith had slipped out of his guitar strap, setting the instrument down against Shirley's piano. Grabbing the microphone, he kept singing as he slithered his way closer to the edge of the stage.
**We'll paint the night, let it shine in the light of our love… well, this is the night, yeah, this is the night of our love…"** The words practically oozed out.
As always, Shirley and the others watched his moves closely, protectively, from behind.
The stage literally vibrated as Keith approached the crowd. The screaming intensified and he flashed a big dimpled grin down at them. By now, all he could see was a moving carpet of heads and arms. There was no possible way he could even distinguish one face from another, but they didn't care. They wanted him and he knew it.
**I'll treat you like a woman, love you like a woman, Lord, I'll prove it baby; I'm a man of my word…"**
He was at the stage's edge, now. As the pounding of the music resounded behind him, he squatted down, the words pouring out.
**Love, love, can't you feel your heartbeat? Love, love, I can feel your heartbeat! Love, love, can't you feel your heartbeat? Love!**
Keith stretched out his hand, taking extra care to keep just out of reach of all of those fingers clawing at him from below.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Still bent down, he went to stand, but his foot was on the mike cord. With a thud, the microphone was yanked out of his hand, taking him by surprise and causing him to lose his balance. Suddenly he started a treacherous tumble towards the crowd, who literally waited with open arms.
Seeing their idol almost diving at them, the kids wasted no time in helping him in his descent.
The music stopped, and the rest of the horrified Partridges darted forward just as Keith was swallowed up in the ocean of bodies below.
"Mom!" Laurie wailed helplessly.
"Oh, dear God… Reuben!" Shirley screamed at the manager, who had already jumped off the stage and was making his way towards his singer.
Shirley saw the security guards pushing through the mob as well, and she started towards the steps that led from the stage to the ground. Laurie grabbed her arm.
"No, Mom, you'll get hurt! They'll find him!" The look in Laurie's eyes told Shirley that even she didn't believe it.
The three younger Partridges dashed to the stage edge, their faces filled with confusion and horror. Shirley pulled back at them. "Get back, kids!" she shrieked. "Laurie, take them backstage!"
With Laurie's hands on their shoulders, guiding them to safety, Danny, Chris and Tracy looked back to find their mother on her knees at the edge of the stage.
"Reuben!" she screamed over the pandemonium that was ensuing below. "Do you see him?"
Fighting off hundreds of determined teenagers was harder than it looked. Reuben felt his suitcoat being torn from his back as he frantically searched for Keith. The security guards had pulled most of the crowd back, but it was still like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Then, he saw him.
Keith had somehow managed to get underneath the four-by-sixteen foot cavern of the stage, and there he remained, huddled, bruised and bleeding. His clothing was in shreds, and he was trembling like a leaf.
Reuben hurried to his side, himself a little worse for wear. "Keith, are you okay?!"
Keith looked up at him, dazed and terrified, his dark eyes filling with tears. "Reuben, help me!" he pleaded.
"Okay, okay, kid…easy. Where are you hurt?" Reuben went to touch him, but Keith drew back.
"They almost killed me!" He half moaned, half screamed it.
"I know, I'm sorry…" Reuben put a gentle hand on Keith's arm. The shirtsleeve had been ripped off, exposing a bleeding wound. "Let's see if there's a way to the back from under here." He looked around them.
"No…I don't dare move! Please, Reuben…" Keith pleaded.
"You can't stay here. Look, I see an opening over there," Reuben indicated to their left. "I think it leads backstage. See if you can crawl."
Keith frantically shook his head, the terror flashing in his eyes. "No, I can't!"
A security guard looked in at them from beyond. "We've cleared the field. Do you need an ambulance?"
Reuben looked at Keith, who, still huddled in a ball, trembled harder. "It looks like it, yes. Tell the Family that I found him, will you?"
"Sure." The guard pulled back.
"Oh, god…" Keith whispered, closing his eyes. "Oh, god…" he repeated, his voice shaking.
The manager patted Keith's leg, trying to comfort him as best he could. In the near darkness, he could see bloody scratches on the exposed skin of his arms and face. The kid looked as if he'd been in a war.
Shirley was at the stage opening. "Keith!" she cried, sliding in beside them.
"He's pretty shaken up. They're sending an ambulance."
Reuben's words echoed in the surrounding beams as Shirley reached out to her son.
"Keith, honey, are you hurt?"
Shivering, Keith could only nod, remaining in his fetal position. The shock of almost being trampled to death was becoming all too real, and he began to sob.
Shirley pulled him to her, ever the protector. She rubbed his back and shoulders, trying to get him to calm down, but letting him have free reign of his emotions at the same time.
He buried his head in her chest, still sobbing, and Shirley glanced at Reuben.
The older man was on the brink of breaking down himself, and she knew he was more than uncomfortable.
"Go fill the others in," she told him. "I sent them backstage."
Nodding, Reuben crawled quickly out of the opening, leaving mother and son there all alone to deal with the aftermath.
The hospital room was a private one, tucked away in the bowels of the fifth floor. It was quiet here, with very little traffic, all at Shirley's request. Keith was still trying to deal with his experience and hadn't been himself for several hours, now. He just lay in the bed, with such a look of vacancy on his face it was hard to fathom his emotional condition. He hadn't spoken more than two words since Dr. Adams admitted him, which was just about breaking Shirley's heart. The physical wounds, two cracked ribs, fifteen bruises and abrasions from his face to his shins, a stitchable cut on his left hand and a strained back, were at least something that she could deal with. It was the things that he kept inside that frightened her. If he would just talk about it!
She sat at the bedside, trying not to stare at him as he lay with his head turned toward the window, away from her, as quiet as he'd been for two hours, now. His handsome face was now a myriad of black and blue; his forehead just over his left eye having gotten the worst of it. It was devastating.
"Do you want me to open the blind, Keith?" It was worth a try.
As expected, he didn't respond, and Shirley sighed, reaching over and touching his hand. He tensed visibly and her heart sank even farther.
There was a soft knock on the door and Shirley looked over to see Laurie peering in. "Mom? Okay if I come in?"
Shirley forced a smile she didn't feel. "Sure, honey."
Laurie entered, worry creasing her pretty face. "How is he?"
Shirley glanced at her son, then rose from her chair, propelling Laurie to the farthest corner of the room. "I don't know. He won't even speak. I know he's been hurt physically, and those things have been addressed, but, oh, Laurie, he's hurting emotionally, too…" Shirley whispered, looking exasperated. "I've tried drawing him out, but he just won't respond."
Laurie looked thoughtful, glancing over at her brother. "Maybe there's a psychiatrist he can talk to. Someone that's trained in this sort of thing. I mean, you're too close to the situation. And it could be that he's afraid you'll react to his emotions without understanding them." Laurie replied softly. Seeing her mother's surprised look, she added, "I've…been taking a psychology class at school."
Shirley's countenance brightened. "You know, I think you've hit the nail on the head. He needs a stranger to confide in."
"Want me to have Reuben talk to Dr. Adams?"
Shirley nodded, giving Laurie a quick hug. "You realize you probably just saved him."
Laurie smiled. "I hope so." She turned to look at Keith, whose eyes remained fixated on the window. He looked so lonely, so empty. Before she exited, Laurie went to him, stroking his bandaged cheek. "Feel better, big brother."
He just hauled in a deep breath, closing his eyes and Laurie moved away, feeling a little empty herself.
Keith eyed the white-coated man with apparent suspicion. Shirley and the others had told him that Dr. Farrell was just another physician that Dr. Adams had recommended, but Keith knew better. They all thought he was crazy!
"It really isn't healthy to keep your feelings bottled up inside of you," Farrell was saying. He was sitting in the chair next to the bed, where Keith was in a half-sit, still under the covers, still afraid. "Now, I'm not here to force anything out, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
Keith shook his head, looking away. What could he say? He'd nearly been killed. That was it. Wasn't it enough?
Dr. Farrell waited patiently. He'd had worse patients; and this one would come around, too, in due time.
Several minutes passed, and then Keith spoke. "I have never been so scared." It was barely whispered; weak. Timid, yet certain.
Farrell sat forward. "Of what?"
Keith took a deep breath. "The kids were literally trying to tear me apart, and I was screaming at them to stop, but no one would listen. When I finally got free, I crawled under the stage, but I had this fear that someone would find me and finish the job." Now, the words gushed out. "I didn't dare even breathe…I couldn't even move. I'd twisted my back and it hurt so bad, just lying there…then Reuben found me, and…" His voice trailed off into a sob. "Oh, god…this pain is so bad!"
"Aren't you on medication?"
Keith nodded, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. "It's not working."
Dr. Farrell wrote something in his notebook. "I'll tell Dr. Adams that you need something stronger." He paused, looking at Keith. "You said something about finishing the 'job'. Do you think they did this to you on purpose?"
Another deep breath. "No…I don't think they even realized I was hurt, but it was like I wasn't even real to them; like I was some sort of rag doll they all wanted a piece of. I was being suffocated and pulled apart and they just kept wanting more. Not one person stopped to say, 'Hey, this guy is real, he's hurt. Stop!', you know?"
Again, Farrell jotted something down. "Don't you like your fans?"
"Sure, when they're calm and listening. I know they get excited, and that's part of the fun of it, but I need my space. You know, a barrier, a wall. It could be a transparent wall, but I need something just the same. I don't know if I can get out there and do it anymore. That's what scaring me." Keith swallowed, staring at the doctor as he continued to write. "Am I just being paranoid?"
"What do you think?"
Keith grunted. Typical answer, one he fully expected. "I really don't know. We have another show in a couple of days, and I honestly don't know if I can bring myself to get back up on that stage. Besides, with my back hurting the way it is…"
"Maybe your back is hurting because you're afraid." Dr. Farrell shifted in the chair.
Keith's eyes narrowed. Ah, the old psychosomatic diagnosis. He'd read plenty of this in school. "It really hurts." He nearly spit out the words.
"I'm sure it does; I'm not saying the whole thing
is in your mind, but…how will you know, unless you do get back in front of an audience?" Farrell paused. "Where is your next venue?"
"Reno, at Harold's Club."
"Is it the same type of place?"
"What, you mean outdoors, open? No, it's in a showroom. A lot of older people, but still, the young ones manage to get in. It wouldn't be nearly as chaotic." Keith pushed his head back into the pillow. "I…I'm not sure I can handle it."
"You don't sound too confident," Farrell pressed.
'You try being the fox in the foxhunt,' Keith thought. "Confidence doesn't have anything to do with it. I have to do it. I can't let the family down."
"Do you worry about that a lot?"
"No! It's just that they depend on me."
"Maybe it's not the fans that's your problem. Maybe you feel as if your family is taking advantage of your popularity. No you, no show…have they tried doing a show without you?"
"No, because that's not how it works. The Partridge Family is a group. Nobody's taking 'advantage' of anyone. I happen to like what I do." Keith was bristling. This dude was starting to get on his nerves.
"Perhaps your family doesn't. Maybe they're only in this business to please you."
If Keith wasn't confused before, he was now. It was the fans, it was him, it was the family. 'Next he'll blame the dog.'
Keith winced visibly. "Look, I'm really tired, my back is killing me, and I just want to be alone."
"I understand. We can talk more later." Dr. Farrell smiled, gathering his charts and notes. "I'll pass your medication request onto Dr. Adams."
"Thanks," Keith muttered, glaring after him as he left the room. "Thanks a lot."
All he could hear was screaming. It reverberated through his skull and surrounded him, eventually becoming dull and muffled, yet still omnipresent. Hands were pulling at him from every side, and he just kept going down, down, down. It was getting darker by the second, and Keith tried to pull away, but they had hold of his shirt, his vest, his pants, his arms, legs and hair. "No, please!" he was screaming back at them, although his words were easily drowned out in the bedlam. "Stop! Please, stop!"
He felt something sharp rip at his face and as he turned his head away, he could feel moisture on his cheek. Ducking his head, he tried to wrench from their holds on his arms. Finally freeing his right arm, he began to push back. It was getting hard to breathe, and he knew if he blacked out, he was dead. The other arm was now free and Keith grabbed ahold of something sturdy. It was a beam that was held up the stage and he squirmed until the rest of his body was liberated, then dived toward the opening that was covered by a thick tarpaulin with the Family logo on it. As he found refuge, his back twisted beneath him and severe pain shot through him like a million volts of electricity, but he dared not cry out; they would find him, then, and it would be all but over. So, he lay there alone and whimpering in the murkiness of his shelter, unable to get help or let anyone know he was there.
Gasping, he awakened from the nightmare with a jerk that wrenched his already-sore back muscle. He moaned and before he opened his eyes, he felt a hand pressing into his shoulder.
He saw a nurse's face hovering above him; a kindly grandmotherly type, who smiled down at him. "Do you need something for the pain, sweetie?"
It was like she read his mind. "Yes, please," he groaned and, like magic, the pills and the water were there. He swallowed them hungrily and she helped him lie back.
"Can I get you anything else?" The nurse adjusted the bed covers.
"No, thanks…uh, what time is it?"
She looked at the watch on her wrist. "Three-thirty, give or take a few seconds. I'll be back to check on you in a little bit." She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes somehow comforting him immensely.
He tried to smile back, but it was a wasted effort. The pain jabbing his back saw to that. He watched her toddle out, and he stared up at the ceiling. The time explained why his mother wasn't here. He wondered if anyone else was awake. Hotel rooms aren't exactly restful places; at least by his own experience. One was lucky to get 4 hours of sleep at once. He wanted to call the hotel, just to hear a familiar voice, but knew that if he wakened anyone, they'd probably never forgive him.
Suddenly, he felt completely alone and the feeling frightened him. A forlorn, pitiful sob wracked his body. He wanted out of there; right now. He looked over at the closet where a fresh set of clothing Shirley had brought him hung, just waiting for him. But could he do it; just leave the hospital in the middle of the night like that? He'd have to sneak away, which didn't sound too difficult. There would only be a few people around at this hour; a couple of nurses and some housekeeping people. If he could just walk without a limp, he could probably just breeze right by the front desk to the elevator, then to freedom.
But now the painkillers were doing their job and he found himself getting very, very sleepy. Maybe tomorrow they'd let him go…he would just have to put on the greatest acting job since Clark Gable.
He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Hopefully, this time he wouldn't dream at all…
Continued....
By Cassidy McKenzie
Shirley Partridge was having a horrific nightmare. There was no other explanation for it.
Except reality.
The group was playing the Los Angeles Coliseum; the type of venue that Keith had always disliked the most. It was too free, too chaotic, he would always say. He felt too vulnerable up there on the stage while thousands of screaming fans were pushing and shoving their way to get at him. He had to take extra precautions to keep from accidentally joining them; and he was getting pretty deft at it. He knew that they really didn't mean any harm; they were just excited, but jeez, a guy could really get hurt if he let his guard down. He loved playing up to the crowd; playing cat and mouse, if you will. The vibes from all that screaming and seeing the pure unadulterated love on the girls' faces gave him a sort of sexual connection to them and they loved it, as did he. But he always managed to remain just one step ahead of them at all times. Except for now.
They were in the middle of "I Can Feel Your Heartbeat," and Keith had slipped out of his guitar strap, setting the instrument down against Shirley's piano. Grabbing the microphone, he kept singing as he slithered his way closer to the edge of the stage.
**We'll paint the night, let it shine in the light of our love… well, this is the night, yeah, this is the night of our love…"** The words practically oozed out.
As always, Shirley and the others watched his moves closely, protectively, from behind.
The stage literally vibrated as Keith approached the crowd. The screaming intensified and he flashed a big dimpled grin down at them. By now, all he could see was a moving carpet of heads and arms. There was no possible way he could even distinguish one face from another, but they didn't care. They wanted him and he knew it.
**I'll treat you like a woman, love you like a woman, Lord, I'll prove it baby; I'm a man of my word…"**
He was at the stage's edge, now. As the pounding of the music resounded behind him, he squatted down, the words pouring out.
**Love, love, can't you feel your heartbeat? Love, love, I can feel your heartbeat! Love, love, can't you feel your heartbeat? Love!**
Keith stretched out his hand, taking extra care to keep just out of reach of all of those fingers clawing at him from below.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Still bent down, he went to stand, but his foot was on the mike cord. With a thud, the microphone was yanked out of his hand, taking him by surprise and causing him to lose his balance. Suddenly he started a treacherous tumble towards the crowd, who literally waited with open arms.
Seeing their idol almost diving at them, the kids wasted no time in helping him in his descent.
The music stopped, and the rest of the horrified Partridges darted forward just as Keith was swallowed up in the ocean of bodies below.
"Mom!" Laurie wailed helplessly.
"Oh, dear God… Reuben!" Shirley screamed at the manager, who had already jumped off the stage and was making his way towards his singer.
Shirley saw the security guards pushing through the mob as well, and she started towards the steps that led from the stage to the ground. Laurie grabbed her arm.
"No, Mom, you'll get hurt! They'll find him!" The look in Laurie's eyes told Shirley that even she didn't believe it.
The three younger Partridges dashed to the stage edge, their faces filled with confusion and horror. Shirley pulled back at them. "Get back, kids!" she shrieked. "Laurie, take them backstage!"
With Laurie's hands on their shoulders, guiding them to safety, Danny, Chris and Tracy looked back to find their mother on her knees at the edge of the stage.
"Reuben!" she screamed over the pandemonium that was ensuing below. "Do you see him?"
Fighting off hundreds of determined teenagers was harder than it looked. Reuben felt his suitcoat being torn from his back as he frantically searched for Keith. The security guards had pulled most of the crowd back, but it was still like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Then, he saw him.
Keith had somehow managed to get underneath the four-by-sixteen foot cavern of the stage, and there he remained, huddled, bruised and bleeding. His clothing was in shreds, and he was trembling like a leaf.
Reuben hurried to his side, himself a little worse for wear. "Keith, are you okay?!"
Keith looked up at him, dazed and terrified, his dark eyes filling with tears. "Reuben, help me!" he pleaded.
"Okay, okay, kid…easy. Where are you hurt?" Reuben went to touch him, but Keith drew back.
"They almost killed me!" He half moaned, half screamed it.
"I know, I'm sorry…" Reuben put a gentle hand on Keith's arm. The shirtsleeve had been ripped off, exposing a bleeding wound. "Let's see if there's a way to the back from under here." He looked around them.
"No…I don't dare move! Please, Reuben…" Keith pleaded.
"You can't stay here. Look, I see an opening over there," Reuben indicated to their left. "I think it leads backstage. See if you can crawl."
Keith frantically shook his head, the terror flashing in his eyes. "No, I can't!"
A security guard looked in at them from beyond. "We've cleared the field. Do you need an ambulance?"
Reuben looked at Keith, who, still huddled in a ball, trembled harder. "It looks like it, yes. Tell the Family that I found him, will you?"
"Sure." The guard pulled back.
"Oh, god…" Keith whispered, closing his eyes. "Oh, god…" he repeated, his voice shaking.
The manager patted Keith's leg, trying to comfort him as best he could. In the near darkness, he could see bloody scratches on the exposed skin of his arms and face. The kid looked as if he'd been in a war.
Shirley was at the stage opening. "Keith!" she cried, sliding in beside them.
"He's pretty shaken up. They're sending an ambulance."
Reuben's words echoed in the surrounding beams as Shirley reached out to her son.
"Keith, honey, are you hurt?"
Shivering, Keith could only nod, remaining in his fetal position. The shock of almost being trampled to death was becoming all too real, and he began to sob.
Shirley pulled him to her, ever the protector. She rubbed his back and shoulders, trying to get him to calm down, but letting him have free reign of his emotions at the same time.
He buried his head in her chest, still sobbing, and Shirley glanced at Reuben.
The older man was on the brink of breaking down himself, and she knew he was more than uncomfortable.
"Go fill the others in," she told him. "I sent them backstage."
Nodding, Reuben crawled quickly out of the opening, leaving mother and son there all alone to deal with the aftermath.
The hospital room was a private one, tucked away in the bowels of the fifth floor. It was quiet here, with very little traffic, all at Shirley's request. Keith was still trying to deal with his experience and hadn't been himself for several hours, now. He just lay in the bed, with such a look of vacancy on his face it was hard to fathom his emotional condition. He hadn't spoken more than two words since Dr. Adams admitted him, which was just about breaking Shirley's heart. The physical wounds, two cracked ribs, fifteen bruises and abrasions from his face to his shins, a stitchable cut on his left hand and a strained back, were at least something that she could deal with. It was the things that he kept inside that frightened her. If he would just talk about it!
She sat at the bedside, trying not to stare at him as he lay with his head turned toward the window, away from her, as quiet as he'd been for two hours, now. His handsome face was now a myriad of black and blue; his forehead just over his left eye having gotten the worst of it. It was devastating.
"Do you want me to open the blind, Keith?" It was worth a try.
As expected, he didn't respond, and Shirley sighed, reaching over and touching his hand. He tensed visibly and her heart sank even farther.
There was a soft knock on the door and Shirley looked over to see Laurie peering in. "Mom? Okay if I come in?"
Shirley forced a smile she didn't feel. "Sure, honey."
Laurie entered, worry creasing her pretty face. "How is he?"
Shirley glanced at her son, then rose from her chair, propelling Laurie to the farthest corner of the room. "I don't know. He won't even speak. I know he's been hurt physically, and those things have been addressed, but, oh, Laurie, he's hurting emotionally, too…" Shirley whispered, looking exasperated. "I've tried drawing him out, but he just won't respond."
Laurie looked thoughtful, glancing over at her brother. "Maybe there's a psychiatrist he can talk to. Someone that's trained in this sort of thing. I mean, you're too close to the situation. And it could be that he's afraid you'll react to his emotions without understanding them." Laurie replied softly. Seeing her mother's surprised look, she added, "I've…been taking a psychology class at school."
Shirley's countenance brightened. "You know, I think you've hit the nail on the head. He needs a stranger to confide in."
"Want me to have Reuben talk to Dr. Adams?"
Shirley nodded, giving Laurie a quick hug. "You realize you probably just saved him."
Laurie smiled. "I hope so." She turned to look at Keith, whose eyes remained fixated on the window. He looked so lonely, so empty. Before she exited, Laurie went to him, stroking his bandaged cheek. "Feel better, big brother."
He just hauled in a deep breath, closing his eyes and Laurie moved away, feeling a little empty herself.
Keith eyed the white-coated man with apparent suspicion. Shirley and the others had told him that Dr. Farrell was just another physician that Dr. Adams had recommended, but Keith knew better. They all thought he was crazy!
"It really isn't healthy to keep your feelings bottled up inside of you," Farrell was saying. He was sitting in the chair next to the bed, where Keith was in a half-sit, still under the covers, still afraid. "Now, I'm not here to force anything out, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
Keith shook his head, looking away. What could he say? He'd nearly been killed. That was it. Wasn't it enough?
Dr. Farrell waited patiently. He'd had worse patients; and this one would come around, too, in due time.
Several minutes passed, and then Keith spoke. "I have never been so scared." It was barely whispered; weak. Timid, yet certain.
Farrell sat forward. "Of what?"
Keith took a deep breath. "The kids were literally trying to tear me apart, and I was screaming at them to stop, but no one would listen. When I finally got free, I crawled under the stage, but I had this fear that someone would find me and finish the job." Now, the words gushed out. "I didn't dare even breathe…I couldn't even move. I'd twisted my back and it hurt so bad, just lying there…then Reuben found me, and…" His voice trailed off into a sob. "Oh, god…this pain is so bad!"
"Aren't you on medication?"
Keith nodded, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. "It's not working."
Dr. Farrell wrote something in his notebook. "I'll tell Dr. Adams that you need something stronger." He paused, looking at Keith. "You said something about finishing the 'job'. Do you think they did this to you on purpose?"
Another deep breath. "No…I don't think they even realized I was hurt, but it was like I wasn't even real to them; like I was some sort of rag doll they all wanted a piece of. I was being suffocated and pulled apart and they just kept wanting more. Not one person stopped to say, 'Hey, this guy is real, he's hurt. Stop!', you know?"
Again, Farrell jotted something down. "Don't you like your fans?"
"Sure, when they're calm and listening. I know they get excited, and that's part of the fun of it, but I need my space. You know, a barrier, a wall. It could be a transparent wall, but I need something just the same. I don't know if I can get out there and do it anymore. That's what scaring me." Keith swallowed, staring at the doctor as he continued to write. "Am I just being paranoid?"
"What do you think?"
Keith grunted. Typical answer, one he fully expected. "I really don't know. We have another show in a couple of days, and I honestly don't know if I can bring myself to get back up on that stage. Besides, with my back hurting the way it is…"
"Maybe your back is hurting because you're afraid." Dr. Farrell shifted in the chair.
Keith's eyes narrowed. Ah, the old psychosomatic diagnosis. He'd read plenty of this in school. "It really hurts." He nearly spit out the words.
"I'm sure it does; I'm not saying the whole thing
is in your mind, but…how will you know, unless you do get back in front of an audience?" Farrell paused. "Where is your next venue?"
"Reno, at Harold's Club."
"Is it the same type of place?"
"What, you mean outdoors, open? No, it's in a showroom. A lot of older people, but still, the young ones manage to get in. It wouldn't be nearly as chaotic." Keith pushed his head back into the pillow. "I…I'm not sure I can handle it."
"You don't sound too confident," Farrell pressed.
'You try being the fox in the foxhunt,' Keith thought. "Confidence doesn't have anything to do with it. I have to do it. I can't let the family down."
"Do you worry about that a lot?"
"No! It's just that they depend on me."
"Maybe it's not the fans that's your problem. Maybe you feel as if your family is taking advantage of your popularity. No you, no show…have they tried doing a show without you?"
"No, because that's not how it works. The Partridge Family is a group. Nobody's taking 'advantage' of anyone. I happen to like what I do." Keith was bristling. This dude was starting to get on his nerves.
"Perhaps your family doesn't. Maybe they're only in this business to please you."
If Keith wasn't confused before, he was now. It was the fans, it was him, it was the family. 'Next he'll blame the dog.'
Keith winced visibly. "Look, I'm really tired, my back is killing me, and I just want to be alone."
"I understand. We can talk more later." Dr. Farrell smiled, gathering his charts and notes. "I'll pass your medication request onto Dr. Adams."
"Thanks," Keith muttered, glaring after him as he left the room. "Thanks a lot."
All he could hear was screaming. It reverberated through his skull and surrounded him, eventually becoming dull and muffled, yet still omnipresent. Hands were pulling at him from every side, and he just kept going down, down, down. It was getting darker by the second, and Keith tried to pull away, but they had hold of his shirt, his vest, his pants, his arms, legs and hair. "No, please!" he was screaming back at them, although his words were easily drowned out in the bedlam. "Stop! Please, stop!"
He felt something sharp rip at his face and as he turned his head away, he could feel moisture on his cheek. Ducking his head, he tried to wrench from their holds on his arms. Finally freeing his right arm, he began to push back. It was getting hard to breathe, and he knew if he blacked out, he was dead. The other arm was now free and Keith grabbed ahold of something sturdy. It was a beam that was held up the stage and he squirmed until the rest of his body was liberated, then dived toward the opening that was covered by a thick tarpaulin with the Family logo on it. As he found refuge, his back twisted beneath him and severe pain shot through him like a million volts of electricity, but he dared not cry out; they would find him, then, and it would be all but over. So, he lay there alone and whimpering in the murkiness of his shelter, unable to get help or let anyone know he was there.
Gasping, he awakened from the nightmare with a jerk that wrenched his already-sore back muscle. He moaned and before he opened his eyes, he felt a hand pressing into his shoulder.
He saw a nurse's face hovering above him; a kindly grandmotherly type, who smiled down at him. "Do you need something for the pain, sweetie?"
It was like she read his mind. "Yes, please," he groaned and, like magic, the pills and the water were there. He swallowed them hungrily and she helped him lie back.
"Can I get you anything else?" The nurse adjusted the bed covers.
"No, thanks…uh, what time is it?"
She looked at the watch on her wrist. "Three-thirty, give or take a few seconds. I'll be back to check on you in a little bit." She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes somehow comforting him immensely.
He tried to smile back, but it was a wasted effort. The pain jabbing his back saw to that. He watched her toddle out, and he stared up at the ceiling. The time explained why his mother wasn't here. He wondered if anyone else was awake. Hotel rooms aren't exactly restful places; at least by his own experience. One was lucky to get 4 hours of sleep at once. He wanted to call the hotel, just to hear a familiar voice, but knew that if he wakened anyone, they'd probably never forgive him.
Suddenly, he felt completely alone and the feeling frightened him. A forlorn, pitiful sob wracked his body. He wanted out of there; right now. He looked over at the closet where a fresh set of clothing Shirley had brought him hung, just waiting for him. But could he do it; just leave the hospital in the middle of the night like that? He'd have to sneak away, which didn't sound too difficult. There would only be a few people around at this hour; a couple of nurses and some housekeeping people. If he could just walk without a limp, he could probably just breeze right by the front desk to the elevator, then to freedom.
But now the painkillers were doing their job and he found himself getting very, very sleepy. Maybe tomorrow they'd let him go…he would just have to put on the greatest acting job since Clark Gable.
He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Hopefully, this time he wouldn't dream at all…
Continued....