AUTHOR'S NOTE: The original character first appearing in this chapter was written with John Candy in mind, for your benefit; after all, for one thing, it wouldn't be a true Hughesian tale without a Candy character making an appearance. Moving along, then...

"Something's wrong," Claire mused, worried, staring up the stage. The trophies were being presented now, but the Shermer team was in definite disarray, huddled in a group talking loudly and worriedly amongst themselves at the edge of the stage even as their trophies were handed to them. Indeed, many members of the Lake Forest Central team-as well as the third and fourth place finishers, who were also receiving trophies-were now staring at them with concern. And most notably, Brian wasn't among them, Mr. Jacobson now taking what would have been his trophy instead (Matt also wasn't present either, having run off stage a few minutes earlier with a visibly panicked expression). "He'd be out here by now if it wasn't something major," she added, deep concern crossing her face.

"Getting the last question wrong was probably a huge blow to his psyche," Andrew nodded knowingly, "But he shouldn't really be upset; what they did in those last few minutes really was something amazing..."

"Shhhh," Allison waved him off, "I'm trying to hear what they're saying." She squinted at the stage as a formally dressed man came up and started talking to Mr. Jacobson, "OK, they can't find him in the building...um, something, something...janitor says he ran into him going outside...he wasn't wearing a coat...uh oh," a look of deep horror crossed her face, "You guys know what that means?"

"You mean...?" Claire's eyes went wide as she realized what her former detention associate was saying.

"Yep," the brunette nodded gravely, "If not getting a shop lamp to work caused Brian to bring a gun to school, think of what this is going to do to him."

"Then we've got to do something, quick, before he goes ahead with it," Claire immediately bustled for the side entrance.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on there, princess," Bender interceded, rushing up and waving his hands to bring her to a halt, "First off, this really is none of our concern, if you were smart enough to think of that; second, if he left the building, I hope some of you have an idea of where to look, because I refuse to go rushing into the heart of downtown Chicago on a wild goose chase..."

"Even though Brian would have done the same for you right now if you had run off, Bender!?" Andrew glared him down, "We owe him. Now if you're not coming, that's fine, but don't stop the rest of us, right?" he glanced at his girlfriend, who nodded firmly, "So make your choice now."

He started off with the girls towards the exit. Bender sighed in frustration. "I'm going to regret this..." he mumbled under his breath, but followed them anyway. "So what IS our first course of action then, oh fearless leader?" he griped to the wrestler.

"Couldn't hurt to go backstage," Andrew reasoned, "Maybe someone back there saw him and heard something..."

"Excuse me," a voice rose up. They'd reached one of the hallways to the back of the convention center. Another formally dressed man was seated at a table in the middle of the hall; he rose up as they approached and held up his hand. "Can't come back here; teams and families only," he informed them.

"This might be an emergency," Claire tried to explain, "We're friends with someone on the Shermer team; we think he might be..."

"Sorry, rules are rules," the man shook his head, "You'll have to wait till..."

"You heard what they said," Bender abruptly grabbed him by the collar and lifted him a few inches off the ground, "They demand to go backstage. Now I don't agree with them either, but I say you let them, or I'll have to smash your head clean out your..."

"Bender, no," Claire shook her head disapprovingly at him, "Put him down, now."

"I thought you wanted to go backstage, sweetheart?" the criminal asked her sharply. When she shook her head harder, he sighed and lowered the man to the ground. "But we weren't here," he added to him, following the others into the restricted area. "You wanted this," he continued griping to the wealthy girl, "So you basically signed on to the..."

"Not by threatening others," she glared back, "The last thing we need is for Mr. Vernon to get wind you've..."

"Speaking of which," Allison pointed quickly down the hall. Indeed, there was Vernon, looking miserable as he stood before Lake Forest Central's superintendent, digging through his pocket. "...can't believe I let you talk me into this, Marty," he grumbled furiously, not noticing his students behind him as they flattened against the wall around the corner out of his sight anyway.

"This was your idea, Richard," the Lake Forest Central superintendent reminded him, "Next time, if you don't want to lose the money, don't make the bet. And it really did no good screaming at the kid who got the wrong answer; have they found him yet?"

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon," Vernon pulled some money out of his wallet and handed it over, "Here, five hundred dollars like I promised. And don't think of me as an ogre, Marty; it was just a spur of the moment thing. I'm a lot calmer now, and I'll tell him as such when he does show his face again."

He did admittedly look somewhat regretful, but that was countered by an equally intense look of disgust that was also lodged on his face. "Yeah sure, Dick," Bender muttered under his breath, visibly unconvinced of the superintendent's sincerity.

"Shhh," Allison hissed at him-a bit too late, for Vernon perked up, having apparently heard something. The four of them quickly slid further around the corner before he could turn around. "What?" the Lake Forest Central superintendent asked.

"Just thought I heard something," Vernon said dismissively, shaking his head, "Well, good luck, Marty; better go rally the troops and get them back to Shermer."

"Good luck, Richard; good match tonight," his counterpart said in parting. Vernon could be heard walking back towards where his students were standing. "In there," Claire quickly noticed the restroom behind them. The four of them hastily slid inside and shut the door seconds before Vernon would have turned the corner. A loud bang rang out in the hall; the superintendent had apparently kicked one of the metal garbage cans nearby in frustration. "...damn you, Johnson," he could be heard muttering in total disgust as he walked by the bathroom, but mercifully did not go inside, "Could have taken Irene to the Caribbean with that money and gotten her off my back about how she thinks I do nothing for her anymore! And where the hell did you run off to now!? You know the field trip guidelines as well as anyone else! When you do show up again, there's going to really be hell to...!"

The rest of his rantings were lost as he walked out of range. "Can't blame Brian for running after taking that tantrum from him earlier," Claire shook her head sadly.

"But the good news is, we've got Dick dead to rights for gambling," Bender looked as if he'd just won the lottery, "Tell me one of you was recording that somehow, because..."

"Quiet," Andrew elbowed him in the ribs. Sobbing could be heard from the back of the bathroom. The wrestler cautiously stuck his head around the corner. A tearful Matt was kneeling in front of the closest sink to the wall, praying. "...please God, I'll give you anything you want, don't let him kill himself!" he was pleading to the Almighty, "We've been best friends since second grade; I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him! Please stop him somehow, I beg you...!"

Visibly moved by this, Andrew hesitated for a few seconds before walking over and tapping Matt on the shoulder. "Huh?" Matt jumped a little as he turned. "Oh, uh, Andy," he greeted him with recognition but not exactly intimateness, "I'm surprised you're here."

"I promised Brian I'd come," Andrew told him.

"We all did," Claire leaned around the corner. Matt frowned when he saw who all was there. "All of you?" he seemed puzzled, "Why would Brian...?"

"It's kind of a long story," Allison explained, "Nothing interesting enough to make a movie or something out of, but anyway, would you have any idea where he might have gone? We're worried about him too, now that we've also figured out..."

The bathroom door swung open. "Come on Matt, we're getting ready to head on out," Corey stuck his head in.

"You!" Matt leaped furiously to his feet, "You drove him to it! I'll kill you...!"

He lunged towards the team captain. "Whoa, whoa, easy!" Andrew tried to get between them, "This isn't going to get Brian back, you know!"

"He pushed him too hard!" Matt roared, pointing an accusing finger at Corey, "He was bent on winning at all costs, and he didn't care...!"

"Now that's not true!" Corey shouted back, "I wanted to win, yeah, but...!"

"Well he's right Corey," Lori shook her head firmly behind her boyfriend as everyone filed out of the bathroom, "You didn't have to shout at him after he missed the last question. We were all disappointed, but that really was out of line."

"I know, I know!" Corey clutched his hands to his face, "I didn't mean to shout, it's just...this meant as much to me as it did to Brian. I'm sorry if I hurt him; it was just the spur of the moment; I..." he started sniffing himself, "I didn't mean for anything like this to happen! Yeah, maybe you're right," he admitted somberly to Matt, "Maybe this is my fault; I couldn't live with myself if he does kill himself for this. What are we supposed to do now to make it right!?" he slumped his head against the wall, "Here I am, class president, 3.8 GPA, and I don't know what to do to help him. I just feel so helpless..."

"Well what CAN we do?" Josh piped up nervously from behind them, "We'll be pulling out in five minutes, and after the way he blew up after the match, I don't think Mr. Vernon'll be open to staying longer."

"Wainwright, if you care that much about what Dick thinks, you can go..." Bender started to retort. Claire shoved a hand over his mouth before he could complete the insult. "What Bender here's trying to say," she continued, shooting the criminal a disapproving look, "Is that when life's at stake, sometimes you have to go outside the regulations. I propose we all go out and find him before he does do anything bad."

"Hmm," Corey frowned her and her companions down, "I don't know, really. Like Josh said, Mr. Vernon's not going to be happy if we walk out now; there's no telling what he might do when he finds out. And besides, I'm not really sure if...I mean, why Brian would even want to be with...well, why you four of all people would care for..."

"Oh I see, because I'm who I am, I'm not good enough to be within a hundred yards of you, is that it, Jacobson!?" Bender pulled away from Claire's hand and glared at him, "Why am I so not surprised!? You brains always act like you own the whole school; it's a miracle Johnson even bothered trying to see the light in detention. Well then, you and the rest of your precious honor roll losers here can go and...!"

Andrew elbowed him hard in the ribs again. "Not helping!" he muttered at the criminal through gritted teeth. Turning back to Corey, he said as calmly as he could manage, "Look, I know that maybe the four of us aren't the people you'd normally put your trust in. I can understand now after some of what I've seen lately that maybe some of you might have suffered at the hands of some of the people we ourselves tend to hang out with. But we care for Brian as much as you do. Please, trust us, we want to help you, and we'd have a better chance of finding him if we worked together on this. Please?"

"Um...well...I..."

"Come on, Corey; it's for Brian," Matt leaned close to him, his eyes all but pleading the team captain to accede, "He's right; trust him."

"Well..."

"Corey," Lori put a hand on his shoulder, "For Brian." Corey paused for a moment, then nodded softly. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded to the wrestler, "The more of us out there, the better the chance we can stop him from doing something terrible to himself."

"If he hasn't already," Matt lamented. Allison patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Any of you know where he might happen to go when he's in the city?" she asked the rest of the Shermer team. They shook their heads in unison. "Well, it doesn't really help much, but I guess he went out that door there when he left," Corey pointed to the one at the end of the hall, "It is the closest to the stage."

"That's a good enough starting point," Andrew nodded, "Here's what I propose: you guys go south, and we'll go north," he informed the academic team, "Call us if you see or hear anything with him. Here's my cell number," he dug out a scrap piece of paper and pencil and scribbled it down. Handing it to Corey, he waited until the team captain handed him his own cell number in return. "OK, if we don't have anything in an hour, we meet back here and call the cops, if someone else hasn't already by that point. Just let your father know so he won't worry."

"I think Mr. Vernon'll worry, though," Josh still looked uncomfortable at the prospect of what could be awaiting them if Vernon reacted as badly to what they were about to do as he'd theorized.

"You need help," Bender derided him, ignoring Claire delivering her latest elbow to his ribs, "Well, let's get this over with, then."

"Good luck," Matt pleaded with them, waving goodbye as he followed his teammates into the room they'd initially entered earlier in the evening to get their coats. Neither they nor the Club noticed the outline of a figure standing just around the corner behind them, who had apparently listening in to everything that had been said. The figure let out a soft gasp and slipped quickly away down the hall before anyone could turn around and notice that the person had been there, and the gasp was drowned out by Andrew pushing open the door to the street. A thick blast of snow blew inside. "Oh this is going to be lovely!" Bender continued complaining. For outside, Chicago was now blanketed by about three inches of snow, which by now was coming down very hard.

"Well on the plus side, this does mean everyone could be stuck here in the convention center if the roads are too bad," Allison pointed out, "That could buy us and them more time. OK, I forgot, who took the group photo in detention?"

"I think I did," Claire rummaged through her purse, nodding when she pulled out a group picture of they and Brian. "This should help when we ask around."

"Let's get cracking then; sir," Andrew took the picture and jogged over to a hot dog vendor who was operating nearby, "Excuse me sir; have you seen this boy within the last, oh, twenty minutes or so?"

He held up the picture and pointed to Brian. The vendor shook his head after a brief glance. "All right, thanks," the athlete told him. He shook his head at his associates. "Better keep on going, then."

"This is as far as the dough'll take you, kid," the cabdriver pulled over to the curb, "There's about sixty-seven cents change..."

"Keep it," Brian quickly hopped out of the cab, slamming the door shut as the driver started to question whether he needed another coat. He started shivering intensely as he glanced around at the street signs. The fare had taken him twenty-five blocks; he'd still prefer to get farther away, though, to prevent any interference.

He galloped aimlessly up the street, trying to at least for the moment maintain his composure so no one passing by would try and help if they saw him crying. Still no buses appeared to be out and about, and even though he was in the heart of Chicago, there appeared to be no gun shops around. He felt frustrated deep down; why was it so hard to find a way to kill himself...?

"Hey, kid, come here," came a gruff voice to his left. Brian turned to see an unshaven man pointing a barely concealed gun at him from the alley he was passing. "In here, now," the hoodlum ordered, jerking a finger, "No shouting. Hand over the money, right..."

"Certainly; here, take it, take it all," Brian stepped forward and thrust his wallet at the man, "I don't need it any more. Take this too," he removed his watch and put it on the man's hand, "It'll get something on the market; something a lot more than I'm worth. And don't let the fact I'm giving you what you want stop you from pulling the trigger; go on and do it. Come on, go ahead, shoot me," he gestured at his mugger to pull the trigger.

The mugger, however, looked confused and more than a little frightened now. "Um, I'm not so sure I'm THAT desperate for money," he said slowly, "Maybe if I..."

"Come on, you jackass, are you chicken!?" Brian unexpectedly screamed at him, seizing the gun and slamming it into his chest, "You've gotten this far, now finish the job! Kill me now, damn it, KILL ME!"

The mugger backed away, definitely terrified now. "Uh, just remembered kid, I, uh, got a, uh, dentist appointment to take care of," he mumbled, tossing Brian's wallet to the ground at his feet and breaking into a run, "I'll, uh...no hard feelings, huh?"

"Then give me the gun, damn it!" Brian shouted at him. The mugger kept on running anyway. Brian sighed in frustration, seizing his wallet nonetheless. No matter, though; a way would present itself in due time.

He exited the alley and kept walking up the street. His teeth were chattering now, and his muscles were beginning to lock up, the temperature well below twenty and dropping now. But he willed himself to go on. He certainly couldn't go back; he'd never be accepted anymore where he'd come from.

How much time elapsed before he finally he came to a stop and took stock of his surroundings, he didn't know. He saw he was in a section of the city with lots of low-end tenement buildings stretching on into the distance-or at least as far into the distance as the severely limited visibility allowed. He glanced up at the nearest one, a six story structure at least forty feet tall. A smile crossed his lips. A fall from that height was bound to be instantly fatal. Then again, he felt frostbite setting in without a coat as well. Freezing to death would also be quick and painless.

And that settled it, he decided. He'd go up to the top, and if he didn't freeze to death in an hour, he'd jump. Either way, it would be over quickly and no one could stop him.

He bustled into the alley next to the building and reached for the lowest rung to the fire escape. Grasping it, he pulled himself up and climbed up to the top. His body felt like an icicle as he reached the roof and slid over to the edge. Good, he thought to himself, he probably didn't have much longer, then. He slid over to the edge and looked down. Visibility was poor through the swirling snow, but the sidewalk still looked quite hard through the several inches that had fallen on it. As long as he chose the right dive, he'd probably break his neck on impact. Satisfied, he slid down and rested his head on the ledge, eager for the end to come either way.

Something abruptly started licking his face. He spun to see a yellow Labrador inches away from him, eagerly licking away. "Go on, shoo, get out of here!" he ordered it, trying to push it away.

"Keema, over here," came another voice from the other side of the roof. Brian turned to watch the dog lope back towards its owner, a large rotund man-not all that dissimilar-looking from Mr. Russell, who he'd crossed paths with a few times after the man had moved to Shermer not long ago. He was dressed in a shabby, worn-out overcoat and rumpled fedora, and was lying on top of an old mattress with an umbrella opened over his head, providing him some protection from the increasingly heavy snow. "Hi there," he waved to the boy, "Just enjoying the weather up here. People might complain about snow a lot, but Keema and I find it pretty soothing, don't we Keema?" he rubbed the dog lovingly. "Name's Bill Stanpovalichki, incidentally enough; yours?"

"Brian Johnson, if it's really any of your business," he snorted back, not at all in the mood for conversation at the moment.

"Good to meet you, Brian Johnson," Stanpovalichki stretched and rose up, "So, what brings you up here?"

"I really don't think that's any of your concern, Mr. Stan...Stan..."

"Stanpovalichki."

"Stanpolicekey..."

"STAN-POV-A-LICH-KI," the man spelled it out for him, "Can't understand why no one gets it." He walked over to where Brian was slumped. "You must be cold with no coat on."

"I'm just fine."

"Well, I do have a spare in my trunk over there..."

"I DON'T WANT A COAT, YOU OLD FOOL; I JUST WANT TO DIE IN PEACE!" Brian roared at him. He sniffed loudly, the pain of his failure bubbling back up again. "Die, huh?" Stanpovalichki looked a bit concerned now. He leaned against the ledge next to the boy. "Well, I'm here, and I'd be willing to listen."

"Oh yeah, like there's anything you can do to fix anything!"

"Well, Keema and I may not have any permanent residence these days, to be honest," the man admitted, "But it doesn't take a roof over one's head to make one helpful. So tell me, Brian Johnson, what's got you all worked up to want to kill yourself here on this roof?"

Brian sighed, seeing no way out of it. "If you must know," he began, his teeth chattering involuntarily out of control now, "I just failed everyone I know. And I can't live with that. I guess you've never heard of the Simmons All-Chicago Academic Competition?"

"Actually I have; fine, fine event," Stanpovalichki nodded. For whatever reason, Brian couldn't help noticing, the cold wasn't bothering him at all. "Let me take a guess here that you didn't win it this year?" the homeless man posed to him.

"They would have if it wasn't for...wasn't for me," the tears welled up again as he forced himself to relive the horrible moment again, "I know mendelevium's atomic number; I don't know what happened, why I just blacked out. But it's too late now," he couldn't control himself anymore and totally broke down, "I let everyone down; my family, my school, my whole town..."

"And you really think killing yourself is going to make that better?" Stanpovalichki asked him, worried.

"Don't you get it!" Brian roared at him again, furious the newcomer didn't bother trying to understand, "I worked every waking hour of my life to win that tournament! Without that crown, I am nothing! Truth is," he broke down in hysterics, "I know now, I always have been a nothing."

"Now you don't really believe that. I'm sure a nice bright young man like you..."

"...who can never come through when it counts the most with anything!" he interrupted the homeless man, "I didn't belong on that team, I know it for sure now! They had no use for a washed up has-been with nothing more than a B average who can't even put a simple stinking lamp together!" he seized a tin can lying nearby and flung it away as hard as he could in frustration at that equally painful memory.

"And how do you think your loved ones would feel about this?" Stanpovalichki asked, "Surely they're all worried for you now, since I guess they don't know..."

"Like who!?" Brian struggled to keep his composure, "Like my parents, who I've given my heart and soul for trying to please year after year, knowing deep down all the time I could never really make them happy, and knowing now they'll never love me again! They could only love me when I was the best, and I know now I can never be the best! My friends-what friends; I cost them the gold; they have no reason to speak to me again! And that's not including the people I thought were my friends, who didn't even bother showing up at all! But why shouldn't I have been surprised!?" he buried his face in his hands in grief, "I was the odd one out that day anyway, and I always was going to be! Why should they care about me when they all found happiness with each other, and I was just the amusing comedy relief to them...!" He wiped the tears from his eyes before turning back to Stanpovalichki and barking, "And don't bother playing the girlfriend card either; I don't have one, and for your information, no girl could ever possibly love me! I'm just not good enough for any of them! They all have no reason to care for me anymore; truth is, I'm not worth caring for, and I never was worth it!"

"Oh come on now..."

"SHUT UP!" Brian screamed at him at the top of his lungs through his chattering teeth, "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND! I'M A FAILURE, I'M WORTHLESS, I'M A TOTAL WASTE OF LIFE! AND I JUST KEEP HURTING EVERYONE I KNOW EVERY TIME I FAIL THEM, JUST LIKE I'VE ALWAYS FAILED THEM! THEY'D ALL BE HAPPIER WITHOUT ME, UNDERSTAND!?" He let out a loud sob and slumped to the rooftop, the tears coming in rivers now. "Yeah, they'd all be happier without me," he rued, "In fact, they'd all be happier if they'd've never known me in the first place. Not now, not before, not ever."

Silence filled the rooftop. "And you really think that about yourself?" Stanpovalichki was dead somber now.

"I KNOW it," Brian glared at him, "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone when the end comes. And don't call the cops, either."

He could hardly move now, his body going into lockdown mode. The end was probably no more than ten or twenty minutes away, not enough time for any help to be any good anyway, he knew. "If you insist," Stanpovalichki shrugged in resignation. "Come on, Keema, might as well leave the kid to himself like he wants," he gestured to the dog, waving him towards the fire escape. Brian leaned over the ledge facing the street again, glad to be left on his own. He couldn't help overhearing Stanpovalichki asking his pet, "What'dya think, Keema?" After a brief pause, after which the dog made a low whining sound, the homeless man added, "I thought the same, my friend; I know it's a bit clichéd to do that, but in this case, I think the situation warrants it..."

"Huh?" Brian turned around, but Stanpovalichki had already left. Shrugging, and also shivering harder than ever now, he stared down at the street below, desperate for the end to come as quickly as possible...