Chapter 12 – In Which Alex is Scared, Alone, Confused, and Sorry at the Same Time (TW: panic attack, vomit)


Sunday, November 10th, 2013

(5:38 P.M.)

Alex Day sat up in his hospital bed with blankets up to his chin, shaking uncontrollably as he dry-heaved at a pink plastic bin. Padded restraints around his wrists and ankles made it impossible for him to move much.

Ben and Ciaran both winced as the gagging noises continued. They were adjusting the cameras for the interview (which they had determined they would have to do without the fancy lighting equipment due to Alex's apparent light-induced nausea).

Strangely, Alex wasn't the only citizen in such a state. All throughout the hospital, the beds were filled with trembling, vomiting, disoriented patients. Alex seemed to be amongst the worst of the lot, but at least he was finally conscious enough to question.

"You alright?" Ben asked awkwardly.

Alex lifted his eyes from the bin just long enough to roll them in the interviewer's direction. "Never better," he muttered.

By the time they had finished setting everything up, Alex had stopped heaving and was just back to trembling.

"Are you cold?" Ben asked.

Alex shook his head wearily, eyes closed. "No. The nurse said I've b-been shaking since they b-brought me in."

Ben nodded and sat down in the plastic chair next to the bed. "I have to say, for someone accused of a serious crime, you don't look that impressive right now."

"Crime…?" Alex murmured. He scrunched up his face in confusion. "Is that why they tied me up? Did I hurt someone?"

"You don't remember the war?" Ben frowned.

Alex shook his head again, looking scared. "People keep ta-talking about it, but I just… I don't…" he trailed off.

"It's okay. Let's focus on what you do remember then," Ben went on. "Maybe it'll help jog your memory." He signaled for Ciaran to begin filming. "What's your name?"

"Alex Day."

"Colony?"

"E.B.O."

"Occupation?"

"I'm a m-musician."

"An extremely successful musician, evidently," Ben remarked. "Toucan Tales has broken just about every previous record for pre-order sales."

"Did it?" Alex questioned.

"It did. You don't remember that?"

"No. Wait, m-maybe… Oh god, I don't know," he groaned.

"Just tell me what you do know then. How did this all start?"

Alex took a deep breath and leaned back against the bed. "I guess… I guess it started this spring… when everything was falling apart…"

xxxxx

Tuesday, March 12th, 2013

(3:45 P.M.)

I still wrote songs all the time, but I hardly ever released them to the public. Those that I did release received mediocre reviews. I was beginning to feel like a failure—like my creativity had peaked already and nothing even near as good would ever come out of my brain again.

Normally, I'm not one to let YouTube comments get to me, but this one… this was the one really hit close to home: "You're straying too far from your roots, Alex."

Was I"straying too far from my roots"? I knew I'd changed of course, but that was to be expected, wasn't it? I'd learned a lot in my years of music production—I should be changing. But there was just something about that particular comment that seemed to confirm something I'd been afraid of for a long time—I was just another former indie kid sellout.

xxxxx

Wednesday, March 13th, 2013

(6:54 P.M.)

The next morning, I decided to go back and analyse my very first songs. If I was really straying from my roots, then I needed to figure out just what those "roots" were. Maybe I could deconstruct each of my old songs to find out what was missing from the new ones. So, I packed my things and set off to the only recording studio on our little island.

Felix, the recording studio manager, set me up in one of the back rooms and left me to it. I started by listening to all my old songs, especially those from Parrot Stories. I didn't really see the attraction at first. The songs were… simple. Cliché almost. Why were people so attached to them when my newer songs were so much more impressive?

I was analysing "Don't Look Back" for what felt like the millionth time when Felix knocked gently on the door before entering the room.

"Pardon me, Monsieur Day, but it is nearing seven o'clock," he reminded. "I shall need to be closing soon."

"Is it really that late?" I asked, checking my phone. "Shit. I barely got anything done…"

"May I ask what you are working on?"

He listened intently to my explanation, asking me all kinds of questions about my old music and what I pictured for my new album. It was really nice. Felix said he would keep the room reserved for me the next few days, and even offered to let me leave all my stuff there overnight so that I wouldn't have to spend so much time setting up the next day. I agreed and headed home, thinking of the person I was back when I wrote Parrot Stories.

I spent most of the next week in the studio, but something started to feel kind of off. Every time I would listen to one of the songs, I would be completely taken over by the memories that inspired them in the first place. I wasn't in the studio anymore; I was strolling the streets of Italy, or riding a ferris wheel with my old girlfriend, or waiting for the train and reminiscing. Nostalgia washed over me and I found myself zoning out for periods of time.

Despite this, I felt compelled to keep working on them. I'd strip the songs apart and analyse each piece. Progress was slow due to all the zoning out, but eventually I found what was missing from my new songs.

xxxxx

"And what was that?" asked Ben.

Alex didn't answer right away. He wouldn't look up from the bed sheets for a few moments.

"What was missing?" Ben prompted again.

"I-I can't—" Alex started. Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks. He lifted his hand to brush them off but was stopped by the restraints. "Fuck," he muttered bitterly as the tears escaped, "can't they take these fucking things off? I can't remember anything!"

"I'm sorry," Ben said quietly. "Do you need me to call the nurse?"

Alex sniffed and shook his head, trying to collect himself. "No, I'm fine. It's okay—I know what they'll say."

Ben nodded and waited for him to calm down.

"I really don't remember what happened or what I figured out," Alex said after a bit. "I just remember working in the studio a lot. I must've gone home sometimes, but I don't really remember. Well, one time I remember…"

xxxxx

Sunday, August 4th, 2013

(12:31 P.M.)

I blinked and I was sitting on the sofa in the flat. I didn't know how I got there. I had no recollection of getting home.

"...So anyway, I've finally found a place closer to the office," Charlie was saying. How long had he been talking to me? "I'll be moving in next week, but before that… Alex? Alex, are you listening?"

I blinked a few more times and looked over at him. "How… Charlie? How did I get here?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned. "You've been sat here drinking tea for the past half hour."

"Oh… right. Yeah." Nothing was making sense. Was I drunk or something? I didn't feel drunk exactly, but something was definitely not right.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked.

"Just tired. You were saying?"

I don't know why I lied. All I know is that it felt really important in that moment that he couldn't know.

"Okay, if you're sure," he said hesitantly. "So on Tuesday…"

That's the last thing I remember Charlie saying to me. I don't even know if I answered him, but I guess I must've because my next memory is of waving at him as he drove away in the moving van. I was so confused. Why had he left? Charlie wouldn't just decide to move out without telling me, right? Surely, we must have talked about it before… But why didn't I remember that conversation?

xxxxx

Alex took a few deep breaths. "It just got worse after that. Whole days were missing."

Ben nodded and flipped through his legal pad. "So that brings us up to August 9th. That's when Charlie moved out."

"Are you sure?" Alex asked. He lifted his hands towards his head again, but was stopped by the restraints. "Oh god, my head hurts," he groaned. "It's so hard to remember anything…"

xxxxx

Wednesday, August 14th, 2013

(5:00 P.M.)

Someone was tugging on my arm.

"Come on, I'm taking you home and I'm going to make Charlie barricade you in your room for the next ten hours so that you fucking get some sleep! Jesus!"

Tom Milsom? How long had he been there? His face was actually quite scary—he looked so intense. I had no idea why he was insisting that I come with him. I didn't even know why I was at the recording studio in the first place.

Charlie… I knew something about Charlie. What was it? "Charlie moved out," I found myself saying.

Tom let go of my arm. "He what?"

We must've talked some more, but I don't remember the rest. Tom took me back home and told me to stay in my room and not come out until I'd slept a whole night.

xxxxx

"Did Tom stay the night with me?" Alex asked quietly. He seemed so small in the bed and the trembling was getting worse.

Ben consulted his legal pad again. "He says he stayed two nights, and then he made sure to check up on you every few days until Dan Howell moved in. Do you remember any of that?"

Alex closed his eyes tightly, straining to recall anything. "Dan? Wait… I think I remember Dan…"

xxxxx

Monday, October 28th, 2013

(11:14 A.M.)

"... and this is the essential element, it makes the whole song come together beautifully, and… um…" I trailed off, not sure what I was saying.

I was sitting at my kitchen table, across from Dan Howell. He was eating cereal and looking annoyed. Why was Dan there? Did I invite him over? I looked down at the notebook I had in my hands—it was full of new songs and lyrics, all written in my own handwriting.

"Sorry, what were we talking about?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Considering the past eighty or so conversations we've attempted have been about your new album, I'm gonna go ahead and guess that."

"Oh."

What did he mean "eighty conversations"? How long had he been there? Nothing made sense—I couldn't form a single clear thought.

xxxxx

Alex sighed. "And I think that's all I remember."

Ben nodded. "So you don't remember anything about Carrie coming?"

"Carrie came?" Alex asked, furrowing his brow. "Did she finally move here?"

"Interesting…" Ben commented.

"Wait! When did Carrie come?"

"September 2nd."

"Really? Fuck, why can't I remember that?" whimpered Alex. "Wait, why can't I remember?"

"It's okay," Ben reassured. "If you don't remember, you don't remember."

"No! It's not okay!" Alex cried anxiously. Tears welled up in his eyes again and his breathing quickened. "That was important a-and I can't remember! Why can't I remember?"

Ben got up and walked closer to the bed. He couldn't bring himself to care about keeping up his detached, professional persona when his friend was freaking out. "Alex, you need to calm down, alright? Please. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Why am I here?" Alex panicked, suddenly struggling against the restraints as if he had just noticed them. "Wait, why am I tied up? What did you do to me?"

"Nurse?" Ciaran called. He strode quickly out of the room. "Can someone help us here?"

"I didn't do anything to you," Ben explained carefully. "The doctors are just worried that—"

"What doctors? I need to get out!" He was starting to hyperventilate. "Please! Let me out!"

"Shit. Alex," Ben pleaded, trying his best to keep his voice calm and steady, "you'll be alright—I promise. Those are for your safety. It's going to be alright." He gently placed a hand on the sobbing man's arm.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Alex shrieked.

Ben recoiled instantly. "Okay, I'm not touching you."

"Let me out! P-Please let me out! I can't remember! I-I can't… breathe…" Alex choked out, "I-I… ca-can't…"

Three nurses—two llamas and a human—moved quickly into the room, followed closely by Ciaran. Ben stepped back from the bed to make room. In a flash of green scrubs, wool, and urgent-sounding French and English instructions, one of the llamas helped the human to attach an oxygen mask on Alex's face.

The remaining llama ushered the little film crew out of the door. "Thank you for your concern," she said briskly, "but you shall have to wait in the hall."

"Wait, what are you giving him?" Ben called back, noticing that the other nurses were preparing to inject something into Alex's IV. "What is that?"

"A mild sedative to ensure that he does not harm himself or others," the first nurse replied. Still guiding them firmly toward the door, she went on, "Monsieur Day is experiencing a psychotic episode and is unavailable for further questioning at this time. Please sign out at the front desk. Your recording equipment shall be returned shortly. Thank you."

And with that, she pushed Ben and Ciaran out of the hospital room and shut the door behind them.


A/N: This chapter was co-written with Angela (tumblr: jamesisnotonfire)