Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Christian, Pierre, the guys in Iron Fist, and my first story Edtallica I guess. Somebody else owns everything else.
Ah, summer… the only time of year where I'm so bored that all I have to do is sit back and let my imagination (and my muse, Steve) think of ideas… Which is why I'm ready to make chapter 4. Now, I know people are probably getting a tad bored of the single-character focus chapters, and to tell you the truth, I am too. Because o' this, I've decided to get back into my groove and make chapter 4 a little more interesting… and longer!
On a different note, I've noticed that some writers like to respond to their reviews and thank those who've reviewed for past chapters, and since I appreciate all of my readers n' reviewers, I've decided to take that up as well. So here we go:
Eddismybibabi: Thanks for reviewing and giving me your opinions. It's good to meet another Wayne's World fan. Uh… as for the Linkin Park thing, though, I don't know if I'll be able to do that, thanks for the suggestion though. I hope this doesn't stop you from reading. Lots of other bands will make appearances, though. Oh yeah, the next chapter is right now!
Golgatha B: As always, thanks for reviewing. I'm aiming to make this as good as Edtallica, you can count on it!
Double-Z: Don't worry; I intend to keep doing my best on this, thanks for reading! Oh yeah, keep working on The Ed of Something, too!
Lil' Freak 3 of 2008: Thanks for the much-appreciated reviews, dude.
Wolfgurl & GerudoPrincess: Heh, I knew I'd get somebody to feel warm n' fuzzy inside with chapter 2!
StinkyWrix: Thanks for being one of the first Edtallica fans; I hope I'll have your support for the rest of this story, too!
Sorry if I forgot anybody, but for the sake of getting on with it, here's chapter 4!
PAGE BREAK!
Chapter 4: Goin' to California
December 24, 2007; San Francisco, California: 11:52 PM
"Hey, barkeep, gimme another Labat, man!" Christian slurred.
The bartender glanced up at the platinum blonde kid who had called to him; the same one who asked for another drink just a few minutes ago. He glanced up at the clock. It was almost eleven o'clock, and he was almost positive that the kid had been there since at least seven.
"Don't you think you've had enough, kid?" he asked, raising an eyebrow to the youngster.
"Whaddaya mean 'do I think I've had enough'?" Christian retorted, "I said I wanna 'nother drink, now c'mon!"
"Sorry pal, I'm going to have to cut you off." The bartender responded firmly.
The Canuck snorted. "H-Hey, don't you have any idea who the hell I think I am?"
"No, but I know that you're probably too drunk to remember…" he replied, "Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"What? You can't tell me what to do, I'm a fuckin' rock god!" Christian drunkenly declared.
"Sir, either you leave now, or I'm going to have to call the police, which is it gonna be?" The bartender questioned.
"You want me to go? Fine, I'll leave!" Christian hiccupped, "I'm sure there's gotta be another bar around here that'll give a beer to a frickin' rock god when he asks for one! Now good day ta you, sir!"
The bassist bumbled his way out of the bar, mumbling drunken ramblings under his breath about the difference between an American bartender and a Canadian bartender. By the time he tottered all the way to his black Thunder Bird convertible, he concluded that American bartenders were wimps and Canadian bartenders were tough n' hardy folk who gave you a beer when you wanted one, or if you were a rock star or hockey player, 'two'!
He revved up the engine of the already fast car, which he poured lots of money into fixing up the engine to go even faster, and sped out of the parking lot, tires squealing as he went.
The snow was falling oddly thick that night, making his visibility limited, thus making the Canadian's intoxicated driving even worse. The fresh snow quickly covered his windshield. Despite the best efforts of his windshield wipers, the snow kept pounding the window.
"Damn American snow!" Christian sloshed, "How'm I s'posed to see where the other bars are when it keeps landing on my window?"
He mumbled something else about how Canadian snow would NEVER do something as dumb as land on your windshield. He then thought of the perfect plan, he'd open his door and look out from it. That would show that stupid American snow who was boss!
He opened his door and stuck his head out, the chilling breeze blowing back his hair and pounding his face with snowflakes. As he was sputtering from the snowflakes and squinting from the harsh winds, his car ran over a patch of black ice. Christian's car swerved violently, and before his alcohol infested brain could grasp what was happening, his car flipped over the guard railings on the side of the road, landing heavily on the drivers side; with his left leg still hanging out the door.
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December 25th, a California hospital: 8:15 AM
Christian's eyes slithered open slowly, immediately wincing from his throbbing hangover.
"Doctor, he's waking up!" a female voice called.
"Oh, excellent!" a deep male voice responded.
Christian blinked a few times, and then gazed about his surroundings.
"Oh man! Bad hangover, very bad hangover!" Christian muttered, massaging the sides of his head tenderly.
As he continued looking, he noticed that his arms were covered in stitches and bandages; half of his head was covered in a huge piece of gauze, and also something very disturbing…
"Ah! W-Where'd the rest of my leg go!" Christian yelped, frantically groping around his hospital bed for the missing half of his left limb.
"Christian, calm down! I can explain everything." The doctor assured the self-proclaimed rock god.
Christian calmed himself down, but still stared wide-eyed at his incomplete leg.
"Do you remember anything that happened last night, Christian?" the doctor inquired slowly.
"Uh… I remember that I went to some bar for a few drinks… then… I don't know; it gets kinda fuzzy from there, eh. I guess I blacked out," Christian recalled.
"That's probably not too far from the truth, actually." The doctor stated, "You crashed your car on the highway last night, flipped it actually. The lower portion of your left leg was caught in the door; it was barely hanging on by a thread when the ambulance brought you here. A few other surgeons and I determined that that half of your leg was probably useless, and was only going to spread the infection to the rest of your leg. Therefore, we had no choice but to amputate."
Christian nodded, still shocked and frightened about the results of his blackout from the night before.
"I- I'm not healthy, am I doc?" Christian asked, looking up at his surgeon.
"Well no, not presently, but you're getting better!" the doctor assured him, "You'll just have to stay here a few more days so we can keep an eye on how you, then we'll give you some crutches until we can fit you for a steel prosthetic."
"No, I mean…" Christian interrupted the surgeon and made drinking motions with his hands.
"Oh, that! Well… is blacking out a common happenstance for you?"
"Uh… yep," Christian responded plainly, "Just something to do every night. But… after this, I don't wanna do it anymore, I mean, I could've died! Should I get help?"
"Yes, I believe that you should," The doctor surmised, "We have many good rehabilitation facilities in the area, they'd be able to help you."
Christian nodded. The idea of rehab wasn't the greatest thing ever, but at least he'd be getting help.
January 15th, Betty Ford Center (therapy session); 2:34 PM
"Ah, Christian how are you?" Dr. Leinberg, Christian's psychiatrist asked.
"I'm doing ok, I guess…" Christian muttered, "Not much for me to do around here but get better, though."
"Yes, but all of your doctors say you're improving very well," The shrink complimented slowly, "And the physical therapist says you're doing very well on your new prosthetic leg, too!"
Christian couldn't help but roll his eyes. The doctor needn't tell him that, he already knew! He'd only been in rehab about a month and everything was already horribly routine. This therapy stuff was just some new crap that his doctors were springing on him that he didn't think he needed.
"Ok, let's get down to business, hmm?" Dr. Leinberg said, "I'm going to ask you some questions about yourself. You know, your life, your family, your band…"
Christian noticed that the headshrinker put extra emphasis on the word 'band' but he supposed he had every reason to.
"And by doing this," Leinberg continued, "We're going to try and figure out what drove you to drink and then try to overcome it, ok?"
The un-enthused Ontarian nodded in agreement. This would take a while…
"Tell me about your family, Christian," The doctor began, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Yeah, I've got an older brother, Craig," Christian answered, "He's in a band, too."
The shrink nodded and scrawled some notes into a yellow notepad.
"Ok, good. Now, what were your parents like?"
Christian smirked, "You watch The Simpsons?"
Leinberg nodded, "Yes, from time to time."
"Ok, picture Ned and Maude Flanders. That's almost exactly what they were like," Christian explained, "Very religious, extremely nice. Me and Craig, though, we were more like Bart Simpson."
Leinberg wrote as he spoke, "Oh, so you were troublemakers?"
"Damn straight!" Christian said, "We did everything they hated: acted up in church, swore, listened to heavy metal, heh, we even went Gothic in high school. Y'know, dyed our hair black, wore nothing but black and grey, pentagram necklaces. We partied hard, too. But y'know what they say, the preacher's kids are always the wildest!"
"And your parents put up with this?"
"For a time, yes," Christian recalled, "They finally exploded when me and Craig formed this Gothic thrash-metal band called Iron Fist –he's still in that band, by the way. I think they're playing Ozzfest this year. - And poured all of our time into that. Our grades just dropped."
"So what did they do?"
"They kicked us both out of the house at different times, first Craig, then me about five months later." Christian said, "So I found this dinky apartment and lived there, getting money by doing various gigs with Iron Fist."
"Whoa, wait," Leinberg sputtered, "They kicked you out of the house?"
Christian nodded. "Yeah, why?"
Dr. Leinberg didn't respond, but instead wrote rapidly in his notepad for several minutes.
"Uh… doc?" Christian said, waving his hand in front of the psychiatrist's face, "You there?"
The doctor smiled, "Yes Christian, and I believe we've made our first breakthrough!"
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Christian parked his infamous black pickup in the airport's parking garage. He then raced to the trunk and grabbed his bags and suitcases and walked as fast as he could through the Toronto National Airport. He'd been waiting four long years for this day, and he wanted it to start now! Therefore, he continued to scramble throughout the airport, and after several "quick and required" baggage checks (it took him forever to convince the guards that it was the zipper on his pants that was causing the metal detector to go off and that his bass wasn't a gun) he finally made it to the correct terminal for his non-stop flight to San Francisco. Ok, so it was only going to be a six-hour flight, but still!
"Attention travelers, flight 17A, nonstop to San Francisco is now boarding, please line up in an orderly fashion at the door." A female voice wheezed over the loudspeakers.
"Finally!" Christian yelped, springing out of his chair and grabbing his bags.
He stopped for a moment and chuckled. "Heh, I sounded like Eddy there for a second!"
After a few minute's wait in line, Eddy finally boarded the huge jetliner. After taking his seat and getting acquainted with the businessman sitting next to him, the plane began to take off. As the plane ascended higher and higher into the sky, Christian stared excitedly out his window, looking at the clouds.
'I'm comin' boys!' Christian thought to himself.
"Daddy, where are we going?" Shamus inquired from the backseat of the car.
"We're going to the airport so we can ride in an airplane to California!" Ed explained.
"Daddy, why do we have to go to California?" Shamus asked.
"So Daddy can record another CD with his band, Shamus." Ed informed, "Don't worry little buddy, I'm sure you and Mommy'll have lots of fun while Daddy and his friends are working!"
"Ok!" the boy chirped.
Once Shamus was content with where they were going and what they were doing, Ed drove as fast as he could to the airport. He couldn't wait to see Double D again and actually see Christian for the first time in four years. The recording would be relatively easy, too, since they had already recorded the gist of a song once Double D got out of rehab, not to mention the two songs they had previously recorded with ol' "Heavy Metal" Hank. That was two…. Three songs already! They just had to make about nine more, think of an album title, and that was it.
'Nine songs? Oh pshaw, that's nothing! Christian could write that many in his sleep!' The guitarist thought to himself reassuringly.
As the O'Hare family pulled into the airport parking garage, Ed's car phone rang.
"Hullo?" Ed said.
"Hey Mullet, it's Eddy. You on yer plane yet?" the drummer questioned.
"Nope, not yet, Eddy. We're on our way though!" Ed replied.
"Oh, ok. I'll wait for ya at the airport, then. Double D and Jason are going to meet you, Christian, and me over there to give us a ride. See ya, Ed!"
"Later Eddy!" Ed concluded.
Ed hung up the phone and led his family through the airport towards their flight. The oafish guitarist was ready to burst with excitement as he boarded the plane and strapped himself in. Not only was he going to get back together with his band mates outside of Eddy, but this was the first plane ride he'd been on in four years, too!
"Attention, passengers, this is your pilot. We're clear for take off, we will arrive at San Francisco, California at approximately 5:30, buckle your seatbelts and enjoy your flight…"
A/N: Ah, it's good to be back in my long chapter groove! Ok, so this chapter was only about eight pages, but hey, it was longer than the other chapters, and they're only gonna get longer! Well anyway, please excuse my delay in putting this up. My birthday was on the 13th, so I took the day off to celebrate, and then I scrambled around town trying to find some place that would hire me for the summer (still unsuccessful). So uh… voila. Read and review!