Episode 100:

                "Don't rush a miracle worker, sonny. You rush a miracle worker,
                 you get rotten miracles."
                                Miracle Max, The Princess Bride

                When Alan opened his eyes, all he could see was a white, blinding pain. He closed his eyes again, his shoulder slumping defeatedly. "I'm dead." He whispered with disappointment. "I'm dead. I'm dead and now I'm not going to get to see Kim again. I'm not going to be on stage. I'm not going to get to be . . ." He turned his head a bit, looking to the side. There was less light and a wooden door that was closed. He rolled his head to his left, to find Marilyn waiting by the side of the bed, a giant amused smile on her face.

                Alan lifted his head up, looking around the room. Will, Matt, and Oliver stood at the foot of his bed, all of them smiling broadly. And in the corner of the room, Malcolm and Ruwani stood with Kim, all smiles as well.

                "My friends." Alan said. He began to cry. His head fell back to the pillow, banging his forehead against the metal wall behind his bed. "I am dead. All my friends are here and I'm in Heaven."

                "That's very sweet." Matt said, laughing now, as the others joined in. "But even if this is Heaven, I still wouldn't go into your bathroom for awhile."

                Alan's head shot up. "You spoke." Alan said, his eyes wide. "Angels don't speak. They have like cool telepathy and stuff."

                "And they're probably prettier." Will grinned. "Welcome back to the land of the living, dork." He patted Alan on the knee.

                Before Alan could say anything, Kim jumped up onto him, covering his mouth with hers, rendering communication mometarily impossible.

                "Where are they?" Asked the driver in the van. He looked up at the man in the passenger seat, both waiting around the walkie-talkie. They looked back into the van itself, at the four men who waited patiently. Dressed in military BDUs, they all looked sedate and calm, the downer-drugs taking affect.

                There was a ring.

                The driver reached down to his waist and pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open with a fast flick of his wrist. He looked at his partner. "I always wanted to do that." He held the phone to his ear, grinning. "Go ahead." He said with a dramatic impersonation.

                Before the voice on the other end of the phone could say anything, Armand reached in through the open window and grabbed the man's hand and yanked his arm out of the window, so that his phone was held up to Armand's ear.

                "I'm sorry." Armand said with a giant grin and a polite, telemarketer voice. "The goon you have called is no longer available. Please call back after his thorough beating." Armand let go of the man's hand just long enough for it to recoil into the van before he drove his brand through the metal plating off the van itself, puncturing the driver in the leg.

                Darkness.

                Inside the infinte darkness, there was no respite. Inside the eternity of soulless oblivion, sound refused to carry and light refused admittance. Inside the darkness, all things were gone. And in that darkness, Aaron sat.

                He was laying, but after the days of disorientation inside the endless darkness, he couldn't tell if he was standing or floating or flying or some other position that humans had never experienced. His head was tucked inside his hands as if he protecting his head from some collision that seemed imminent. But just darkness surrounded him.

                In the darkness, Aaron huddled in on himself. Curled up in a fetal position, he shivered in the dark cold, his eyes clamped shut. There was no cold, but there was no warmth. There was no pain, but no comfort either. In the complete din of depravation, he had nothing he could hold onto that was real, that was grounded.

                “Aaron.”

                Aaron’s eyes shot open, tears spilling out onto his cheeks. His shivering got worse, almost to the point where his muscles spasmed. But he didn’t move.

                “Aaron.” Came the voice again.

                “Oh god.” He said, nearly breaking down, his tears pouring out of his eyes. “Oh god. No no no.” He suddenly forced control over himself, claming himself somewhat. “You’re not real.” He whispered. “You are not real.”

                “Aaron, I am real.”

                Aaron’s eyes opened, more tears coming they spilled down onto the ground, but disappeared immediately. Aaron sat up, his dehydrated and emaciated face looking around the blackness. He couldn’t tell what direction he was facing or even which way was up or down.

                “Aaron, focus on my voice.” Came the presence inside the darkness.

                Aaron looked around and around, focusing in any direction he could align himself to. “Am I dead?” He asked, looking around so fast, he was nearly spinning in the darkness.

                “No.” Came the voice. On the edge of the words, Aaron almost thought he could recognize it. It clearly wasn't any of the Triumvirate. He knew those voices all too well. But this voice, too, he knew. Somehow. “Phillip is torturing you." Came the familiar voice. "You have to fight it.”

                “Who are you?” Aaron asked, still shivering, still fighting back his hysterical tears. "Who are you?" Shouted weakly when no answer came.

                “Fight it, Aaron.” Came the voice. “Fight it. Phillip isn’t going to leave you in here. He can’t. And he’s going to come for you. He's going to come for you soon, Aaron."

                "When?" Aaron begged desperately.

                "Soon. Very soon." The voice said with a sincere, tender tone. "But until then, you have got to hang on.”

                “How?” Aaron suddenly pleaded, nearly falling over from his weakness.

                “Listen to my voice." He said clearly. "I will stay with you. I won't let you falter.”

                Aaron sat up once again, looking around in the darkness. Wide-eyed and confused, he finally nodded. “Okay.” He whispered. He stood up straight, rubbing both his hands back over his head to smooth back his hair. He reached down and pulled his tie off his neck and bound it up into his pocket. He took another breath. "Okay." He said, the control nearly completely returned to his voice.

                The hospital room was nearly empty once again. Marilyn looked at the platter the nurse had left, then back to Alan as the injured guitarist picked at the food, disgusted. "Malcolm's going to get you a burger." She said, laughing at Alan's apprehension.

                "Thank god." He said, falling back to the bed, banging his head again. Marilyn was about to see if he was okay, but after so many times and his seemingly childish ignorance of it happening, she had simply given up. She sat back down, breathing out through the corner of her mouth, kicking up a strand of her long hair.

                "Did everyone go out for food?" Alan asked, staring up at the light.

                "Just about." Marilyn answered. "I think Ru might have had to go back to school, but yeah. Everyone's coming back.

                "Cool." He said, nodding, the act banging his head against the wall several times. A cold reverberation came out every time his forehead and the metal made contact. He stayed still for a moment, then looked over at Marilyn. "What's on your mind?" He asked.

                "Nothing, really." She said. She looked up at him, and he just gave her a look. "I want to ask a question, but I'm not sure if now's the right time."

                "Is it about the guys who attacked me?" Alan asked. "If so, I already told the police everything. And you were here. I'd rather not address this for a few days if that's okay?"

                "It's not the attack." Marilyn said, obviously hemming and hawing over the whole ordeal. "It's just, well . . ." She took a deep breath and looked straight at Alan.  “Alan, have you ever thought about Ruwani and I together?”

                He blinked at her for a moment. “You mean, you mean like dating and stuff?” He asked deftly, obviously trying to avoid the real topic.

                “No.” Marilyn mumbled nervously, rolling her hands. “I mean together together.”

                “Oh.” Alan said. His eyes shot out. “OH.” He repeated, slowly. He swallowed hard. “Are you trying to get me into trouble? Kim would kill me.”

                “Have you?” Marilyn said. Alan looked around the room, then back to her. He nervously shook his head. "You haven't?" She asked, almost releived. "Seriously, you haven't?"

                "Kim would kill me if I did." He said, laughing nervously.

                Marilyn's relieved smile slowly faded. "You're not telling me the truth, are you?" She said.

                "Kim would kill me!" Alan yelled. "She'd kill me if I did and she'd kill me if I . . ." Marilyn just stared at Alan.

                "I promise." She said. "I won't tell anyone, especially not Kim. But you have to tell me the truth."

                Alan looked at the door, then to Marilyn, the door, then back to Marilyn. He looked down at his wringing hands. “I swear, it was just a random thought. I swear. I never thought it again.” He exploded suddenly.

                “Are you lying?” Marilyn demanded.

                “About what?” Alan asked.

                “Having never thought it again.” She specified.

                Alan swallowed hard. “Yes.” He admitted in a weak voice.