Well, chapter 8 is finally here! It took me a long time to write it due to an excessive amount of college work, but anyway…here it is.

As promised, this chapter has Zack in it. :)

Enjoy! And remember, reviews are most welcome!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Suite Life series.

The sun was shining in Zack's eyes as he gazed fixedly out the window of room 2330, but he didn't care. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, despite appearing as though he was. He was actually thinking. Thinking deeply. His thoughts were spontaneous, disorganized, and confusing. He thought about Cody, about his parents, about Bailey and the email he'd sent her, about his job and concentrating on work, and about life itself. He made mental accusations and asked questions he could never answer.

His head alone felt like a discombobulated mess.

He was miserable mainly because of having to move out of London's suite and into this one—the one with all the memories. Mr. Moseby had come to Zack after he had been in the London Tipton's suite for less than two hours to inform him that the heiress had just called and said she was coming back to the hotel early. So Zack had to leave. "I'm sorry, Zack," Mr. Moseby had assured him. "And I'm afraid the entire hotel is pretty much booked."

Zack nodded, disdainfully. "I understand, Mr. Moseby," he'd said in return. Then he left the room and went down to 2330.

His mom still lived there. She'd been enjoying it more since Zack and Cody moved out because she had the bathroom all to herself now. However, because of all the memories it contained of Cody being happy and going on about his promising future, it wasn't exactly a comforting place for her either.

Everyone was on edge there.

While Zack stared out the window from the living room space, his mom was lying down on the couch, pretending to watch the weather forecast on television, which she had on mute; she didn't want to hear anything—she just wanted something to occupy her line of vision. His dad was out getting something for them to eat from a local restaurant. All was quiet. Under normal circumstances, Zack would have thought it was too quiet. It wasn't typical silence; it wasn't peaceful. It was distressing. Uneasy. An overbearing quiet filled with grief.

Silent grief is the worst. Zack instantly learned that. Everyone mourns on their own, accompanied by their own thoughts. No one expresses themselves.

"Zack," Carey Martin said weakly, bringing him out of his daze. "Honey, could you get me some orange juice from the fridge please?"

Zack got up and walked over to the kitchen space of the room. Images flooded his head—images of Cody as a young, happy-go-lucky teenager, standing in front of the stove, cooking up all kinds of food. Cody always loved to cook. He had been far better at it than their mom. In fact, he used to tell Zack about all these dreams he had of meeting famous chefs across the globe and making his own original dish.

Zack used to ignore him when he spoke about those kinds of things. Now he wished he hadn't.

Although he figured, perhaps it may have been for the better. The images replaying in his memory were a bit fuzzy here and there, and that was a good thing. The clearer they were, the more they stung.

Zack poured his mother a glass of orange juice, and then poured one for himself. He took hers over to her, receiving a subdued "thanks," and then sat at the kitchen table to drink his. He stared attentively at his mother, taking in her appearance in detail. Her eyes were watery and lined with red; he lips were chapped; her hair, which she had recently let grow to reach her shoulders, was tangled and strands of it hid half her face. She was a pitiful picture. She looked so exhausted. So drained of energy.

A sob wedged itself inside Zack's throat. She was shattered. He'd never seen her so fragile before.

Cody should be ashamed of himself, Zack thought bitterly. I bet if he saw her, he would be. He'll never know what all his bullshit has done to us.

He was taken over by a surge of anger, and that anger was directed at Cody. Why did he have to go off and do something this idiotic? I know he was hurting, but still, why did he have to…? Urgh! Stupid, selfish prick! Involuntarily, Zack's fists balled up and his jaw clenched. He wanted to hit something. Anything. He wanted to punch a hole in the wall, to break objects made of glass, to rip apart pillows and pull out stuffing. He wanted to go on a rampage.

He instantly found himself surprised by his own feelings; he'd never wanted to go on a rampage before. Sure, he'd felt plenty of fury in his time, but never enough to where he wanted to destroy everything in his path. It just wasn't like him. He was the laid back kind of guy who either shrugged off problems or totally shunned them—the guy who didn't even like to take things seriously.

I'm not me anymore, he mentally admitted. At least, not now. Now I'm this new Zack—this enraged guy whose emotions are taking him over. This guy who hates the world because his life has been changed too much…changed by situations he couldn't control.

A tear sprung to his eye. He thought it was strange how there could be a mixture of both anger and sadness within him, especially since he'd never been an emotional person. He felt like he was clogged—plugged up with too much feeling. Where's the old Zack? Will I ever see him again? Will I ever become him again?

Then he remembered that visiting day at Fairoaks Asylum was just two days away. In the next two days, he could see his brother again.

Will I be able to be the old Zack in front of Cody?

…………

"Dude, I can't believe you're a twin," George said when he and Cody were locked back in their room.

Cody shrugged. "Well, I am."

"Twins are pretty rare. You are extremely lucky, man."

Cody had rarely thought so. During his childhood, he tended to feel as though he wasn't even an individual, but instead, a carbon copy of someone else. A duplicate. "Why am I so lucky, George?" he asked. "What's so great about being a twin?"

"Are you kidding me?" George cocked his eyebrow. "You could prank people; that'd be the coolest thing ever."

Cody gave a slight smile. "Most people think so."

"You know something?" George speculated. "I've had about fifteen different roommates during my time here, and not one of them was a twin. You're the first."

"I'm honored."

George sat down on his bed, folding his legs across each other. "I bet your mom never caught a break."

Now Cody's smile widened. "You have no idea," he said. "Me and Zack, we'd drive her up the wall with all our shenanigans."

George giggled. "I wonder what her reaction was when she first found out she was having twins."

This brought back a peculiar memory in Cody's mind—one he'd forgotten for the longest time. "Funny thing, actually," he said. "She didn't know until we were born."

"Really?" George asked. "She told you that?"

"Not exactly. She had our birth filmed and she kept the video. Zack found it one day, and he and I watched it. We had no idea what the heck it was until we put it on. Imagine our surprise."

George found this quite intriguing. "I can imagine your disgust."

"Anyway, after she gave birth to Zack she thought it was over. Then a few minutes later, the doctor was like, "Hold on, there's another baby! Carey, you'll have to push again!" She did and, sure enough, there I came. So…yeah. My mom didn't know I existed until the day I arrived. I got to see her face too, on the video; it was…unforgettable."

George laughed. "Fuckin' priceless!"

A small moment of silence ensued in which neither Cody nor George knew what to say. There was a question that was bothering Cody—a question he wanted to ask George that was gnawing at him. It had been gnawing at him since before lunch.

He decided to go ahead and ask it. "George, could I ask you something?"

"Shoot," replied George.

Cody bit his lip. "How do you know so much about people?"

"I talk to them."

That hadn't been what Cody meant. "No, I mean…like Spence, for example. How do you know that his parents ditched him? It's not like he could have told you that."

"Word gets around in here, Cody," George told him. "And Boston is actually a pretty small place. People know each other."

Cody waited for George to say more, but he didn't. Cody wasn't satisfied with that explanation. It was too simple. "That doesn't really answer my question," he pointed out.

George shrugged, unknowingly. "That's the best answer I can give you. That and I just know people. It's a gift."

Cody thought it best to leave it at that.

They spoke about the end of the day after that. First, the patients would get a chance to go to the entertainment room, where they would stay until six o'clock. At six, they would have dinner, and then go back to their rooms for two hours. They would have one last restroom break at nine where they could brush their teeth and relieve themselves. Then it would be lights out.

By the next day, Cody would most likely be given his patient outfit—the white pajamas. He would also be having another visit with Dr. Thompson sometime in the morning; new patients tended to have early sessions with their doctors.

George told Cody what to expect on his first full day at Fairoaks. Breakfast at nine in the morning, then showers, then room time for a while, a restroom break, outside time (which could sometimes be turned into entertainment room time due to inclement weather), then room time again, and then lunch…and the rest Cody already knew.

Wonderful, Cody thought sarcastically. I can't wait for tomorrow.

…………

The entertainment room was nothing special. To Cody, it resembled an old-timey living room; there was a TV and a radio, situated on opposite sides of the room, as well as two boxes—one filled with paper and art utensils, and the other one filled with board games, puzzles, and a deck of cards. Cody and George decided to take out the cards. They were going to play a one-on-one game of 'War,' but then Doris—who happened to be allowed in the entertainment room at the same time as them—and another man who was much older, came up to them and said they wanted to play cards too. So they ended up playing a game of 'Poker.'

There were nurses present, naturally. When was there ever not? They wandered around, here and there, trying to interest certain patients in doing something, giving other patients inspiration, and complementing those doing art on their work. They also stopped an argument that broke out between these two men; one was watching the news on TV and the other was listening to music on the radio, and they each claimed the other had the volume up too loud.

They stayed in the entertainment room for an hour. Cody had another conversation with Doris, and he became more interested in that than in the game. He learned much more about her: he found out that her last name was Wydell, that she was bisexual, that she was molested once by a next door neighbor when she was eleven, and that her childhood dream was to go into cosmetics. She was a fast talker; and it seemed like, overall, she was enjoying herself, despite some of her topics being very negative. Cody thought she was somewhat like George, except for when it came to suppressing emotions. Doris even admitted that she could be very emotional. More so that she probably should be.

They managed to play two full games of 'Poker.' Doris had won one, and George had won the other, but Cody didn't care. He'd been more engrossed in talking to Doris anyway.

From the entertainment room, they all went to dinner.

Doris had been right about dinner. It was better than lunch. There had been steak and a much better prepared salad, and chocolate pudding for dessert. Cody had actually eaten at dinnertime. The looks of the cafeteria still didn't do his appetite any good, but he'd been too hungry not to eat anything.

As he expected, George had given him a little "I told you so" speech.

After dinner, when Cody and George were taken back to their room, George was given another dose of Depakote. "That's just what I need!" he'd muttered sarcastically. Then they were alone again, forced to use up the time by talking. George tried to prod Cody for some details about his past, but Cody didn't say much. He told him about some things, like the famous people he'd gotten to meet—Tony Hawk, Hannah Montana, Jordan Sparks, and Kurt Warner—as well as some of the countries he'd been to, but that was just about it.

George thought all that was positively amazing. Cody had done things that he'd never so much as dreamed about. George had never seen a celebrity in person before; and he'd never left the United States. "Okay, it's official," he said. "You are now my favorite roommate."

There was one last restroom break. Cody spent the entire time brushing his teeth and examining himself in the mirror.

Then it was lights out.

…………

Zack did not want to sleep in his and Cody's childhood room at all. It was bad enough to be in 2330 itself, but to be in that room, with the two beds, the desks, and the familiar carpet that still had stains on it? The memories would be beyond anything else. Unbearable wasn't even the right word to describe them.

But Zack didn't have a choice. His parents were sleeping on the pull-out bed in the living room space and all the other rooms in the hotel were taken. Zack considered sleeping in the hotel lobby on one of the couches, but he decided against it; that would look—not to mention, feel—too strange.

His old bed felt smaller than he remembered it. But that made sense given that he was older and bigger. The sheets were different, but nevertheless, it still felt so familiar. Past restful nights and nightmares both clouded his memory. Preventing any chance of sleep.

He'd told himself he wouldn't do this, but he did it anyway. He opened his eyes (which he'd tried to keep firmly shut) and glanced over at the other end of the room—where Cody's old bed lay vacant.

A sharp spasm erupted in his chest. The pain shot all the way up through his throat, lodged itself in his esophagus, and brought tears to his eyes.

I'm not going to cry. Not now. I've already cried enough.

An image of a thirteen-year-old Cody lying in bed, fast asleep, involuntarily popped into Zack's defiant mind. It was followed by another image of Cody saying good-night to him, and another of Cody's silhouette sitting at the edge of his bed, talking to Zack about typical problems that thirteen-year-old boys face.

Cody. The name itself was like acid in Zack's mouth. It should not have been, but it was. They say there's nothing in a name. That names aren't important. Zack used to think that was true; but now, he wasn't so sure. Granted, names didn't define a person, but they were how a person was known to others. A person's character determined the status of their name. To Zack, the name "Cody" was painful—it represented longing; yet, at the same time, it felt like a knife in his back. It wasn't just the name of Zack's brother. It was the name of his twin. His other half, who had shared a womb with him.

Names may not hold meaning in the grand scheme of things, but that name means everything in the world to me.

Before he knew what he was doing, Zack curled into a fetal position and pulled the covers up over his head. He couldn't suppress his tears anymore so he just let them fall. They slid to his temple, across the bridge of his nose, and soaked through his pillow.

Zack covered his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle the sound as he cried.

…………

Bed time was, unfortunately, not quiet time at Fairoaks Asylum. As Cody lay on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling, which appeared black in the darkness of the night, he couldn't drown out the noise coming from the other rooms. There was screaming, and crying, and whimpering, and begging. And accompanying all that was the pitter-patter of shoes and the reassurance of soft voices as the nurses scurried from one room to the next, administering meds and offering comfort.

The night tends to be a frightening time for people. They're wrapped in darkness, often alone, and they feel more vulnerable to whomever or whatever might harm them. Fear of the night is normal. Nearly everyone has some fear of it, even if it's a miniscule amount.

But a great deal of the patients at Fairoaks feared it tremendously.

Cody heard one man from several rooms down the hall give a loud, ear-splitting scream and then yell, over and over again, that he was on fire. "You're not on fire, Mr. Young," said a nurse, firmly. But the man continued to scream. "Mr. Young, listen to me—you're not on fire. The fire's not real. You're just fine, see? See, Mr. Young? You're fine." As the nurse kept trying to convince the man that he wasn't on fire, she got more and more stern. Eventually, his yelling ceased.

Shortly after that came the voice of a girl, closer to where Cody was, shouting at another nurse. "I know who you are!" she hollered. "That's right, I know who you are! This ain't no hospital. No, this—this is a fucking government conspiracy! Yeah! That's what this is—a fucking conspiracy! I'm not crazy. I'm totally fucking sane and you guys know it! You guys just wanna experiment on me!" The nurse that tried to calm her down had a no-nonsense tone. "Now, now, Valerie," she said. "You know perfectly well that this is not a government conspiracy. We go through this every night. You're sick, and we're here to help you. Now, if you please, take your medicine and go to sleep." The girl called Valerie didn't sound too pleased with that at first, but finally she, too, succumbed.

Cody heard other things too that night. He heard fears of people he didn't know, and probably would never know. Fears that were not his. Fears he couldn't fathom. He heard accusations, and promises, and every fowl word under the sun. He heard pleading, and threats, and past problems coming alive through fragile minds.

And sometime later that night—most likely in the early a.m.—Cody heard whimpering from the other side of his own room. He looked over at George, who was sleeping on his stomach with his face turned toward the wall. "George?" he whispered. George didn't answer him. He just continued to whimper. Cody got up and tiptoed over to George's bed, leaning over to try to get a glimpse of him. "George?" he repeated. Still no reply. Only whimpering.

George was asleep. And he was dreaming.

Cody could faintly make out his words: "But you're not my daddy…I don't wanna…doesn't taste good…doesn't taste like milk…ow! Ow, you're hurting me! Please stop! Please…daddy…please stop!" It was strange hearing so much emotion in his voice.

Cody patted George's shoulder. "George, wake up!"

When George still did not stir, Cody shook him. "George, wake up!"

George shot awake. Cody backed up, afraid for a moment that he was going to get hit in the face by a flailing arm. George turned his face and looked at Cody through half-closed eyes. "Cody?" he muttered. "What is it?"

"You were dreaming," Cody replied. "Are you alright?"

George wiped his sleepy eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, buddy, I'm alright."

George turned over and instantly fell back to sleep. Cody went back to his own bed and laid down. From outside, the chaos continued.

Cody distinctly heard this one boy—he didn't sound too old—beg one of the nurses to let him call his brother. "Please!" he cried relentlessly. "Please, please…let me call Charlie! Let me call my big brother! I need to talk to him! Please! He can get me out of here. I have to get out of here! You have to let me talk to Charlie!" Of course, the nurse wouldn't let him.

Cody instantly thought of Zack, and a burst of pain throbbed in his chest. Zack. Cody grimaced; it hurt so badly to think of him. Zack, man, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to drag you into all this. I love you, bro. I always did. I want to tell you that…again. I want to say it a hundred times over.

But at the same time, I want to tell you I don't understand you. I don't get why you let me get taken here. You could have asked the doctors not to send me. You could have argued and lied in my defense…cause you're good at lying and arguing. Why did you think I needed this?

Did you really think I was crazy? Crazy enough to be in a place like this?

And if I was, would you still love me?

Do you still love me now?

Cody curled into a fetal position, buried his face into a scruff of his covers, and softly cried himself to sleep.