The stillness made Brian's heart pound with anxiety again. Or maybe it was just that he could hear it. Thud-thud...thud-thud...thud-thud. He swallowed hard.
"What next?" His voice came out as a croak.
"You have to send Nick a signal. Let him know that you're here, waiting. Last time you saw a door. This time we're hoping for a window."
"A... window?"
Mindi shrugged. "I don't have words for this part. I don't know exactly what will happen for you. I'm not even sure what signal you can send to him. You're interacting with his deep subconscious - that's metaphor level, if you're not used to thinking in the abstract. Psychics are. We've developed a common way of interpreting certain concepts but we still haven't developed words you can use aloud. But when non-psychics go through this kind of stuff, it's always a deeply personal thing. Your brain will use its own symbols to help you figure out what's going on."
"This is getting deep."
"Must sound like it, huh?" she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry Bri. You'll figure it out. Nick knows you. Once he realises you're trying to talk to him, he should be able to at least communicate with you in a way you'll understand."
"But how do I start?"
She stood up. "Take the chair."
He obeyed and looked up at her, waiting. She glanced over at Nick for a moment, he could see the wheels in her head turning. He followed her gaze. His friend seemed so fragile, dwarfed by the machines, even the plump pillows on the bed looked about to swallow up his head. Instinctively, Brian reached for the hand Mindi had been holding when he arrived. "It's all right, Frack. I'm here."
He didn't notice Mindi note the gesture and nod. "All right. If you had any practice with meditation, we'd do it that way. Since you don't, I'm going to put you in a trance myself. Just simple hypnosis, you'll have enough going on in your head without me in there as well."
"Ok," he didn't take his eyes off Nick. "I'm ready."
Mindi's voice resumed an ultra-calm tone. In a slow, steady voice she began to speak. "I want you to close your eyes. Close your eyes and relax. Let go of any worries, any fears, just let go of everything but the sound of my voice and the feel of Nick's hand. Visualize a staircase that goes deep within you. Slowly, go down that staircase. Down, one step at a time. Deeper and deeper, away from everything that matters, except Nick. As you go down, think about Nick. Don't think about contacting him, just think about him. Let the memories come. Any images, doesn't have to be his face. Could be a favourite place, a pet... just things that somehow in some way are connected in your mind with Nick. The first time you met him. The smell of his house. Don't examine them too closely. Let them flow through your mind, fill it until all you can see, hear, smell, taste, feel, has to do with Nick."
She paused, examining Brian. "Relax," she instructed in a softer tone. "Don't worry about getting it right. Just keep remembering. A secret he told you. A fight you had. A game of one-on-one. The smell of his socks. The taste of his favourite food. The CD you really liked that he lost."
Brian cocked his head as if listening. His free hand began to slowly pat out a rhythm on his thigh.
"I think you can let him go, guys." The wind hit her in the face and the floor began to tremble beneath her feet. Brian didn't seem to notice.
Brian stood on a platform suspended in front of millions of monitors. It reminded him of the Get Down video, except on each monitor, a different memory of Nick played out. He turned and turned, looking for a moment at each. There were so many, and they all meant so much. There was the time he first met Nick, a tiny, scared kid. A food fight on the bus sometime. That horrible bus that used to make him throw up. The smell of Nick's vomit the first time he got really bombed. A girl they'd argued over, not noticing Howie had beat them both to the punch. The way he loved to show off his vocal trills. Anywhere For You. Aaron in the recording studio, singing along as Nick laid down a vocal. The glance they had shared when it was Aaron's turn, recording a song they'd written for him. A song....
Slowly each of the monitors flicked over to the same image. Nick's hands as he drummed something. Not one of their songs, an extended drum solo he'd written and had been perfecting during soundchecks over the past weeks. Drove Kevin nuts, mainly because Nick insisted it was a song without words, without any other instruments - a song with only drums.
As he watched, the monitors themselves buckled, twisted, resolved into one fourteen-inch monitor, still playing the same image, the same sounds. The ground beneath him vibrated to its rhythm as Brian walked towards it, fascinated. He was barely aware that he was surrounded by the orange fog from his dream. One hand brushed the surface of the monitor. For some reason, it felt like skin. He let it rest there for a moment. Then, he knocked.
The moment his knuckles hit the monitor, it transformed into a pane of plexiglass. The image he saw took his breath away. It was Nick. This was no memory, he knew. Not only did it feel sharp and clear, he'd never seen Nick in a prison uniform. He also hadn't met Nick when he was eight.
The very young Nick Carter looked lost. His hair was unwashed, he had dark circles under his eyes and sores on his mouth. The uniform hung off his thin frame. One hand played listlessly with the cuff which nearly swallowed it.
Getting over his shock, Brian knocked frantically. He almost wept as Nick's first reaction was to cower away in fear, but he kept knocking. Nick stayed huddled until, with a flash of inspiration, Brian raised both hands and began to beat out the pattern of Nick's song. Normally it was a feat far beyond Brian's memory or musical knowledge, but somehow, the song had seared itself into his mind and now seemed to flow out through his hands.
Nick raised his head inch by inch, something akin to hope in his eyes. They widened as he recognized his friend. He crept closer, as if not daring to believe it was happening. Brian smiled reassurance. "It's all right Frack," he repeated, still drumming. Tentatively, Nick extended a hand. He placed it flat against the plexiglass and closed his eyes, feeling the vibrations. They stayed like this for a while, savouring each other's company.
Finally, Nick's eyes opened again. Brian's hands stilled, one hand dropping to his side as he moved the other one to press against the point on the glass where his friend's hand lay. Their eyes met. Somewhere, deep inside almost navy blue eyes, Nick Carter smiled the tiniest of small smiles.