Chapter 2

"Where d'ya think yoour goin'?" my mother asked drunkenly, swaying on her feet.

I stood up straighter, and replied, "Mom, I'm leaving."

"Noo, you can't leave," she cried, turning around and leaning on the table. It took a moment before she noticed my bag on the table, with the worn-out picture peeking out of the canvas flap. She grabbed it angrily and turned back to me, her blue eyes crazy with anger.

"Why do you have this?" she accused me furiously, "You don't have the right to have this! It's your fault he's dead! You should've- you should've died that day, not him! Not my boy, not my perfect Casey." She began crying angrily, and threw the picture against the wall.

"No!" I screamed, running to the picture. My mom caught my wrist before I could get there, and shook me roughly be the shoulders, screaming that I wasn't leaving; that I couldn't be happy if Casey was dead.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, but instead, she backhanded me across my face, and I crumpled to the floor, crying weakly. She kicked my stomach and I rolled over in pain, refusing to scream, not giving her the satisfaction.

"Lina?" Harmony asked worriedly through the door.

"No," I thought, wishing I could get the words out.

My mother opened the door quickly, blocking Harmony's view inside the apartment.

"You need to leave," she said acidly, closing the door behind her as she ushered Harmony outside.

"No," I whispered, forcing myself off of the ground. I clutched my side and wiped blood from my mouth as I limped outside. My mother had her back towards me, and Harmony was staring at her with wide, gray eyes. I should have guessed why she looked so terrified. Running as quickly as I could, I put myself between Harmony and my mom. Suddenly, I heared a loud bang, which reminded me of the sound of fireworks, and I fell to the ground. I didn't feel the pain until I saw the blood.

"Lina!" Harmony screamed, kneeling down beside me. I whimpered quietly, trying to tell her to leave, but she stayed, putting herself between my mother and me. Could I really call her my mother now, after abusing me, wishing I were dead, and shooting me? What could I call her if she was less of a mother to me than Harmony's mom? I wished I could change my last name, and have no relationship with her; I wished I could have Harmony's last name, Bloemer, and be a sister again; feel like a daughter again.

I wasn't sure when I blacked out, but the next thing I knew, I was being rushed into the hospital, with Harmony and her mom running next to me.

Mrs. Bloemer smoothed my hair off my forehead, and whispered, "It's all right, honey; everything's going to be okay. You're just gonna go to sleep for a bit."

Tears began to slip down my cheeks, and she smiled reassuringly. Harmony was on my other side, and took my left hand; that was the scariest moment of my life; I couldn't feel her holding my hand. My eyes widened as I tried to move my fingers, but my arm was completely numb; it was as if the part of my brain attached to my arm had snapped, and it wasn't a part of my body anymore. The doctor, a kind-looking man with thin, brown hair pressed a gas mask over my mouth and nose; I didn't have time to be scared because I slipped into unconsciousness almost instantly.

The first time I woke up, everything was foggy. I vaguely remembered a man sitting in the chair next to my lumpy hospital bed, but taking one look at my limp arm in a sling, I passed out immediately. The next few times I woke up were unpleasant to stay the least. My doctor, Dr. Faule, visited every day, and checked the monitors, but I hardly ever stayed awake for the whole check-up. I felt as though my mind was trapped in a prison, fighting to break through its foggy barriers. A part of me wondered if I ever wanted to stay awake; if I ever wanted to face the horrible truth.

A few weeks after I had been admitted into the hospital, I stayed up longer, sitting in the lumpy hospital bed, waiting for a miracle that would never come. One night, I woke up as I usually did (my sleeping patterns were seriously messed up), and it was dark in the small hospital room; I assumed someone had closed the blinds. There were books and magazines stacked neatly on the table next to my railed bed, and beside them sat a man. He was dark-skinned, with short, tightly curled hair, and wore sunglasses and a suit, despite the darkness of the room.

"Who are you?" I asked weakly.

"Hello, Evangeline. My name is Hawk," he replied in a creepy, formal way.

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you- and your incredible talent on the piano," he added.

"How do you know about that? Hardly anyone does," I responded quickly, getting extremely bad vibes from this guy.

"I have my ways," he smiled slyly.

"Why are you here?" I demanded, frustrated with his vague answers.

"Evangeline, I am a number one record producer in L.A."

"No, you're not," I responded smugly, "Gustavo Rocque is."

"He is," he began sadly, "but he's not supposed to be. His band, Big Time Rush, stole my songs and recorded them as their own."

"No way," I thought fiercely, "They seem better than that; Big Time Rush probably has more talent than this guy will ever have."

"What? Why should I believe that?" I questioned, speaking the more polite question in my head.

"Think about it this way," he replied, "Who would you believe, someone who's willing to sign you, or a group of hockey-playing teenagers from Minnesota that, might I add, you've never met before?"

"Sign me? I'd hate to break it to you, Hawk, but the doctors- they said I'd never be able to play again. I think you've gone to the wrong girl."

That conversation was one I'd never forget. My doctor, Dr. Faule, had come into my room for his daily check-up, but his face was different that time: less reassuring, and guiltier. He sat on my bed, and patted my arm; then said quietly, "Evangeline, we've done the best we can, but I'm sorry; it's nearly impossible for you to be able to use your arm again." I cried the whole day, not wanting to see anyone, including Harmony. Why should I want to live, when playing the piano was my whole life?

Hawk began to speak again, and broke me from my horrible memory.

"Evangeline, I can help you be able to use your arm again if you just come with me to L.A. and tell me whatever you learn about that song-stealing band, Big Time Rush."

"Why would you want to help me?" I demanded sadly.

"I can see how upset you are, and thought I'd be able to help. Besides, wouldn't you want a second chance to start over in Los Angeles?" he replied sweetly.

"I guess," I muttered thoughtfully.

"But what about Harmony? I can't leave her."

"Harmony can come with you," he replied instantly, seeming to want to make sure I'd go with him no matter what.

"Do I have your word that I'll be able to use my arm and you'll sign me if I just do what you ask?" I asked quietly.

He leaned closer, and replied in a deeper voice, "You have my word."

"Ok," I muttered, still doubtful, "How should I contact you?"

"I'll be in town for the next couple of days. Rebecca, give her my card." A blonde in high heels with a fake smile walked over to my bed and placed a small business card on my bedside table.

"Call me when you decide." Hawk stood up and walked towards the door, but turned around before leaving.

"You should really think about this, Evangeline. It would be good for you."

It took me a long time to make my decision; I would stay up all night, wondering what I should do: whether or not I could leave my life in San Francisco to try to make it in Hollywood. Some nights, I couldn't tell whether or not I was asleep because my dreams felt so real. The night I made my decision was following the most amazing dream I had ever dreamt: I could use my arm again. I wondered how the simplest dreams could be so magical, but I knew it was the one thing I wanted the most- the one thing I needed was impossible to have, which I found extremely strange. Weren't the things people needed supposed to be reachable? Despite my annoyed thoughts, the dream was absolutely amazing. It was a warm, summer evening: too warm to be San Francisco, and I sat on a stool in front of a piano. I remembered looking up and seeing a beautiful sunset resting on the rooftops of a colossal city. In the distance, I could make out the large, white letters spelling out, "Hollywood."

"Play, Angie." I immediately recognized my brother's voice, a frequent narrator of my dreams.

I smiled sadly, tears gathering in my eyes; I loved hearing Casey's voice, but I wished I could see him just once.

"You can, Angie," Casey laughed, his voice no longer echoing as it normally did.

"Casey?" I asked, astonished.

"Hey, little sis'," he answered, in the soothing tone I had longed to hear for more than ten years.

"You're back!" I cried, and turned around. Casey, with his carefree, blue-eyed smile, stood with his arms wide open. I rushed into his arms, and cried into the same sweatshirt he wore the last day I saw him.

"I never left, Angie," he whispered, resting his cheek on my head.

"Why haven't I seen you before, then?" I demanded quietly.

"This is the first time you've needed my help," he replied proudly, "You've been so strong over these past ten years."

"Almost eleven," I added sadly.

"That's right, it was your birthday that day," Casey remembered guiltily.

"Why do you feel guilty?" I demanded, on the verge of tears, "This whole thing is my fault. It should've been me, not you. You shouldn't have died!" I cried, balling loudly.

"No, no, honey, you can't think that. Angie, shh, it's all right," he crooned, rubbing my back in small circles.

"But it's true! If I hadn't gotten so close to the edge-" I broke off, crying hysterically.

"What has Mom done to you?" Casey's quiet, loving voice was heartbroken, and he squeezed me once more before holding me at arms length by the shoulders. Even though Casey still looked sixteen, and I was almost the same age as him now, he still had to bend down to look into my eyes.

"Angie, you're my baby sister. You always will be my baby sister, even though I don't age anymore. Being your big brother means that I will always protect you, and I will always be there for you, no matter what. I'd go back and save you every day, because I love you, and I'll always be there to make sure you live the future I've seen for you. You're gonna do amazing things one day, Angie, but you can't get there if you keep blaming yourself for my decision."

I sniffled and wiped my eyes; then rushed into Casey's arms again. He chuckled lightly and smoothed my hair.

Because I was so stressed, I assumed it was all right for me to have missed the fact that I was using my arm until that moment.

I gasped, and pulled away from Casey, inspecting my hand as I wiggled my fingers and moved my wrist in small circles. Looking up at Casey, whose brilliant smile nearly made my worry disappear, my mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"This is your dream," Casey whispered, "You control what happens."

My face dropped; a small part of me hoped I wasn't dreaming, but I wasn't that lucky; this was too good to be mine.

"Hey," Casey whispered, lifting up my chin, "Don't be too upset; things'll turn around soon."

"I sure hope so," I muttered sadly, "Things haven't been exactly great lately. Casey, I don't know what to do! Do I trust my head and go to L.A. to get my arm back, or do I follow my heart, which is telling me that I don't have the right to risk the reputation of four, seemingly sweet guys from Minnesota?"

Casey sighed and answered, "Angie, I can't give you the answer to that. You just have to do what's best for you."

"So I should go to L.A. with Hawk?" I asked quietly. Casey shrugged and I growled.

"Whatever you do, honey, I know you'll make the right choice in the end," he whispered.

"What does that mean?" I demanded, uber-confused by his guru talking.

He laughed and replied, "Just listen to your heart; when you're making it big in Hollywood, just make sure you're getting to the top because of your talent, not because you're bringing people down in order to get there."

"So I should do both? Go to L.A., but make sure I don't hurt Big Time Rush's reputation?" I asked, hoping the plan forming in my head would work.

Casey smiled. "I knew you'd figure it out on your own."

I laughed and hugged him once again, not able to get over the fact that he was actually here, if not for just a moment.

"Angie, I have to leave soon. It's time you went back to reality," Casey whispered sadly, squeezing me even tighter.

"No! You can't leave me; not again," I cried, tears threatening to come pouring down my cheeks again.

"I'm never gonna leave you, Angie," he replied, and pulled away from me slightly. He took my hand and walked me over to the piano.

"Play, Angie," he whispered once again, sitting next to me on the stool.

I looked in Casey turquoise eyes, afraid this would be the last time I'd see him.

"Don't worry, Angie, you'll see me again. I promise."

I smiled bravely, but my quiet crying made it difficult for my smile to last much longer than a few seconds. I turned my attention to the piano and took a deep breath, before beginning to play. After a few moments, I began to sing softly, needing to sing the song I had been writing over the past few months.

This life's not for second-guessin',

It's not for findin' all you're missin',

It's for lovin' those you've already found,

But can I love when you're gone because of me.

I paused briefly to look at Casey; he looked upset, but didn't say anything, so I continued to sing.

That day's scarred in the back of my mind,

I was young and too close to the edge.

You pulled me back just in time,

But the river stole you instead.

I blame myself for letting you go,

'Cuz you taught me all I should know,

You taught me how to laugh, to love, to live,

But how can I laugh when all I do is cry,

How can I love when all I say's "Goodbye,"

I'd live, but you're gone and I know why.

Maybe I got what I deserved,

But how could fate take you from me,

From this world,

All I know is that, it wasn't your time to go.

I glanced over again, and Casey's body began to disappear in a swirling mist of water. I took his hand one last time before it, too, transformed into mist; then Casey was gone. I cried quietly, and continued to sing brokenly as tears flowed consistently down my cheeks.

You had so much to live for,

So many to love, so much to look toward,

But the river came and washed your dreams away,

It left me here and took you away.

I blame myself for letting you go,

'Cuz you taught me all I should know,

You taught me how to laugh, to love, to live,

But how can I laugh when all I do is cry,

How can I love when all I say's goodbye,

I'd live but you're gone and I know why.

I know you'd want me to move on,

To love again even though you're gone,

I'll try to love but I'll never forget,

What made me feel all this regret.

For you I'll live, laugh and love,

Try to move on from all that reminds me of,

That summer day,

The river took you away.

'Cuz I blame myself for letting you go,

'Cuz you taught me all I should know,

You taught me how to laugh, to love, to live.

Now I'll try to laugh, and try not to cry,

I'll learn to love without ending "Goodbye,"

I'll live again, but never forget,

What made me feel all this regret.

"I miss you, Casey," I whispered; then slipped out of my dream and faced the reality I had to accept.