A/N: I messed up a little on the timeline. The 17 I meant in Chapter one was that was how long Roger had been drug free. He's not 17! Hope I cleared that up!
FIUP:
*Chapter Two: Welcome Home*
September 12, 1991-
"Are you out of your mind? Leaving? What the fuck, Cohen? Where?" Roger asked in a shouting voice.
Mark finished packing his suitcase and headed for the leaving room of the loft.
"I need to find myself... not just for my job...but..God, I'm losing my mind. Please, Rog...just let me go," Mark begged as he set down his suitcases.
"Let you go? To the Middle East? Why there? All thats there are terrorists and sand monkeys!" Roger continued to shout.
Mark put on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.
"Maybe I can help them. I need to do something. You--you don't understand!" Mark said, sadly.
Roger put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Mark was still just a kid...he couldn't handle being in New York City by himself, let alone the Mid-East.
"Look, I know your upset over your father's death. But that's no reason to--"
"It's not about my father! Don't talk to me about about my--"
Mark fell sobbing into Roger's arms. His father, Joseph Cohen, had just died of cancer and Mark was having a difficult time handling it. Joseph and Mark never had a close bond. But hey, he was, after all, his one only father.
"It's my fault. He died thinking I was a failer. He died thinking I was no good. Useless, thats the word. Plain useless!" Mark cried.
"NO! It was not your fault. Beyond everthing, your father did love you. He was proud of you and your work," Roger assured Mark.
Mark wiped his tears and brought himself back to his feet. He gave Roger a piece of paper.
"That's where I'll be," Mark said.
Roger looked at the address and studied it.
"Beirut, Lebanon?" Roger asked.
"Yeah, that's where the film comany is sending me... I'll be there for about a year," Mark said.
"Well, I can't guarentee I'll be," Roger said and smiled.
"Why?" Mark asked.
"I'll send you a letter...." Roger told.
Mark smiled and pick up his bags, and opened the door.
"So long, my friend," Mark said.
"Nah, see your ass lata!" Roger teased.
Mark smiled and shut the door....
Fourteen years later....
Roger's taxi cab pulled up to the Raphael Memorial Hospital. He grabbed his wallet out of his butt pocket.
"This should cover it...there's also a fifty dollar tip as well," Roger told.
He grabbed his bags and got out of the cab. The Cab driver rolled down his window.
"Thanks, Mr. Davis...and I love your new single...uh, Why Can't there be Love? I love that one! You are very talent!" The Cab driver said.
"Um, thank you.." Roger said, feeling embarrassed.
"No prob and good luck at the Grammy Awards next month!" The Cab driver said.
"Thank you," Roger said.
After the Cab left, Roger hesitated before walking into the hospital. Chanel promised to be in the lobby, looking for him. He walked around for a while before Chanel found him.
"There you are!" Chanel called from down the hallway.
Roger smiled and walked towards. Chanel threw her arms around him. She was shocked when she saw his face.
"Oh my god! Your the Roger Davis...the famous Rock Grammy winner! This is so awesome!" Chanel cried.
Roger was used to girls and fans being excited around him. But this was different compared to the cab driver and others. This was the daughter of a longtime friend. A friend Roger had block from his memory after becoming famous. But those days of blocking out old friends, were over.
"Yeah, um...how's Mar--I mean, your dad?"Roger asked.
"He's been throwing up and vomitting all morning. He's getting worse everyday..." Chanel told.
Roger was afraid to go up and see his old friend. Afraid of seeing him thin, pale and deadly-ill. But...he had to. Mark was waiting.
"Chanel, can we go upstairs now and see your dad?" Roger asked.
"Yeah, he's waiting for you. He's excited to see you!" Chanel assured him.
Room 345-
Roger and Chanel came to the door of the room.
"Ready?" Chanel asked.
"Better late than never," Roger said, while taking a breath.
Chanel smiled and twisted the door knob. She opened the door and went in first. Roger went in slowly behind her. As he walked in, he saw a curtain between the door and Mark's bed. Chanel walked behind the curtain. Roger heard some mumbling before Chanel came out from behind the curtain.
Chanel's face was terrified.
"He had diarrhea all over the place. It's all over him and all over the bathroom. The nurse asked if we could step out for a minute while she cleans him up," Chanel told Roger.
Roger nodded. "Fine."
Chanel lead Roger to the door and they both stepped out. Chanel shut the door. Roger and Chanel sat in two chairs across from the door. Chanel put her head on Roger's should, the same way Mark did.
"You seem to like and trust me a lot, considering we just met," Roger said to Chanel.
"I feel like I know you a lot. My dad talks about you none stop....did you know my mom?" Chanel asked.
"Zalfa? Yeah, for a while," Roger answered.
Chanel lifted her head from his shoulder.
"Than why did you say that you didn't on the phone last week?" Chanel asked.
"I didn't know it was Zalfa that Mark married. I thought he married someone else," Roger told.
"How would you know? You weren't there," Chanel said.
"I'm sorry...it was so complicated. Mark left for a year, brough back a Lebanese chick and all hell broke loose," Roger told.
"Chick? That was my mother! And what hell? You're not being--" Chanel stopped.
The nurse was hand waving them to come into the room.
"Let's roll...but we are talking later," Chanel warned.
Roger and Chanel walked to the doorway. The nurse stopped them.
"Mr. Cohen--"
"Mark," both Roger and Chanel corrected at the same time.
"Mark, had an accident. But, we've stablized him. He's very weak and tired so...make it short," the nurse said.
"We'll do," Roger said.
After the nurse moved, Chanel lead the way into the room. The curtain was pushed back, and there was Mark. Laying there, peacefully. His hair was a very light, almost white-ish, blonde. His skin was paper white and much paler than usual. Plus, he was very thin. No fat was found anywhere on the dying man's body. Mark looked like a corpse. In a few months, he would be a corspe.
Chanel sat in the chair next to Mark's bed. She grabbed his hand and gently shook it.
"Dad? Daddy? Wake up," Chanel whispered.
Mark's eyes slowly opened. He saw Chanel first and grinned.
"Hey, Dad! Look whose here?" Chanel pointed.
Mark's head slowly turned in Roger's direction. When Mark saw him, an overly welming smiling came on his face.
"Roger?" Mark asked. His voice was hoarse and unreconizable.
Chanel gave her seat to Roger. Roger took Mark's hand.
"Yeah, yeah...I'm here. I'm here, buddy, don't worry, you'll---you'll be fine," Roger was speechless, but had to say something.
"Rog," Mark stopped to clear his throat," I'm-gulp-I'm dying."
Roger put his hand on Mark's forehead. He was burning hot.
"No, no--you can't! You'll be fine! Trust me, you'll--" Roger stopped.
Roger saw Chanel shaking her head in the "no" direction. Roger saw in her eyes, there was no hope left. He put his head on Mark's chest.
"I just got you back...I found you again--we found each other! What can I do? What can I do for you?" Roger asked.
Mark coughed hard and long. Chanel grabbed a rag from the stinky bathroom and put in on Mark's mouth. He coughed up blood, which made his face even more paler, if that was humaningly possible.
"You--we--you can--you and Chanel--gulp--everyone, I want to see--everyone," Mark breathed. His voice was so deep. He sounded like Johnny Cash.
Roger looked at Chanel. All she did was lift up her shoulders and dropped them. She had no idea who.
Mark only had to say one word that would all make sense.
"Boh--Bohemians," Mark whispered.
Roger and Chanel watched Mark fall asleep. After he was asleep, Chanel put her hand on Roger's shoulders.
"Do you know what Bohemians are?" Chanel asked.
"The hell I do...why is he asking me this?" Roger asked to himself, angerly.
"Asking you to do what?" Chanel asked him.
"Find those eight people, one I loved, one I hated...how can I face them again? How do I even find them?" Roger complained.
Chanel reached into her father's bag that was on a tray next to his bed. She took out an older-looking video camera.
"Maybe it won't be as hard as you think..." Chanel smiled.
To Be Continued...
