My deepest thanks to everyone who has written in support of this effort! This, as you should be able to tell, is the second chapter of A Light in the Tunnel. A few people have asked about the meaning of the title, so here it is: Many people know of the light at the end of the tunnel, the happy result of the trials we face. But, if you've read the first chapter, you will know the result of the main character's tribulations. This story revolves around his redemption, thus his light comes in the middle of the tunnel. Strange, but there you are.
OK, I do not know NSYNC, anyone affiliated with them, or any other celebrities that may or may not appear within these pages. Having said that, it can be correctly assumed that I know nothing of their sexual orientations/habits or personalities. This is a complete work of fiction, spewing from my sometimes over-imaginative mind.
If you aren't legal, go somewhere else! And if you are uncomfortable with reading a story about relationships between men, you should leave also. I do not intend A Light in the Tunnel to be your average stroke story, so you will have to wait for sex and the like.
Without further rambling, I humbly present:
A Light in the Tunnel: Chapter 2:
Frowning at the odd question and mysterious poser, Burke replied, "I think the appropriate line is Showgirls."
"Showgirls!" the stranger cackled, now sounding rather youthful. "Boy, that movie was da bomb! Hey Burke?"
The boy grumbled his answer, still puzzled and wary. "What now?"
"Who's your favorite music group?"
"NSYNC," he blurted quickly, his brain failing to censor his mouth, forgetting to keep such a potentially harmful opinion quiet. Burke almost smacked himself. How could he be dumb enough to say something that could cause himself to be degraded or isolated further? As damage control, he went on the offensive. "Who the hell is this?"
"Watch your mouth young man," Lisa warned.
"Ha ha, you got in trouble!" the man taunted.
Burke was fuming, his ears getting hot. "I'm about to say some things that'll be much worse if you don't tell me your name!"
"I'll do you one better. Turn around Burke." Exasperated, his head snapped around. At the far end of the shelter house, perched upon a rickety picnic table, sat five men. Burke's jaw dropped, and he fought for a breath. "Hi!" he heard over the phone while watching one of them, who was also holding a cell, wave. Burke's mouth was drier than the Sahara during a drought, his arms lead weights unable to return the gesture. "Umm--mind if we come over there? It's a little freaky to talk like this."
"O--ok," he managed to stammer. Lisa rose to greet the men as they stepped up to their table.
"Lisa, it's nice to finally meet you in person."
"You too, Lance. You all vaguely know my nephew, Burke. Burke, this is-"
"Uh, Aunt Lisa?" Burke muttered, suddenly finding the filthy concrete at his feet very interesting. "I know who they are."
"Right, sorry," she laughed, feeling silly and on the verge of being star struck. "Burke, hon, I need to get something from the car. I'll be right back." She shuffled away quickly, whispering a thank you in Lance's ear as she moved past him.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Burke said quietly, still staring at the floor. He was embarrassed, and confused as to why they were there. His shyness was raging full force, not allowing him one fleeting glimpse at his new companions, his idols.
A pair of gray tennis shoes snuck into Burke's line of vision, then a body as someone squatted before him. A large hand reached up and tilted his head until he looked upon a smiling face. "It's alright, Burke, you don't have to be shy. We won't bite, I promise. Hi there."
Though he wanted to look somewhere else, feeling unworthy of such incredible attention, he held the man's friendly gaze. "Hi." Remembering his manners, something Burke had always prided himself on, he turned to the others. "Hello."
"Hello Burke," came a chorus of greetings.
Burke's next words, the first ones to pop into his jumbled brain, made him wish for the strength to run away or a boulder large enough to hide under. "I like your music. I listen to it all the time." His cheeks flushed, realizing he must have sounded like every other person they talked to.
"Thanks, that means a lot to us," JC replied.
"Burke?"
"Yeah?"
"How are you doing?"
He glanced at Chris, his bewilderment doubled. Why were they asking about him? Why were they even there? If they knew, Burke thought, how awful I am, they'd be out of here in a New York minute. They'd hate me just like everyone else does. "Just fine, and you?" His answer was immediate and well rehearsed, delivered with practiced sincerity.
Lance shifted his stance a little, chewing on his lip from nervousness. They had briefly discussed a plan of action for when they met Burke, but ultimately decided to play it by ear, wanting to be able to adapt to whatever was thrown at them. "Burke, I know you must be wondering what we are doing here." The boy nodded. "The truth is, your Aunt Lisa wrote a letter to us about you."
"May I read it please?" Lance pulled a worn envelope from his back pocket and gave it to Burke. He slid the letter out, briefly noticing it was written on the paper he had helped make, and then read.
Dear NSYNC,
I am writing to you with an urgent plea. My nephew, Burke, is in trouble. I don't know how to help him, so I'm asking, begging, you to do what I cannot.
Over the past six months, the Burke I knew has virtually vanished. There is only a shadow of him now. I know he has been sad, but, until lately, I didn't see just how bad he was. Maybe I just didn't want to. Every day that passes leaves me more terrified that he is one step closer to giving up. Every time the phone rings, I'm scared that it's the call
telling me Burke has committed suicide. I can't pull him out of that dark
place, and the Lord knows I've tried. It breaks my heart to see him so
low. If there is anyone who can save Burke, I hope it's you. You are his
idols and his comfort. He spends endless hours in his tiny, windowless
room listening to your music over and over.
Burke is such an incredible young man. He is seventeen, but you would only know that by his face. He looks young, but if you heard him talk, you would guess he was older. I remember one time, Burke was seven or so, my parents and I were discussing the Cold War, and Burke was right in the middle of the conversation, even making his own legitimate points on communism as a form of government. Right now, he's easily first in his
class going into his senior year of high school. But being so brilliant
has had its drawbacks. The rest of the kids his age work hard to learn,
and he breezes right through it. That difference has left Burke with no
friends. He was alienated because of his brains, so he turned to one of
his first passions: books. While the other children ran around playing,
you could always find Burke lost in the pages of whatever he had found to
read. That separateness has only gotten worse as he got older. Since he
spent all his time reading and doing well in school, he has never had a
friend, and has never done the other things boys his age do. He can play
basketball, but doesn't fit in with that crowd, so he doesn't. The only
activity he participates in is choir. Burke's singing has won awards, but
more importantly, it brought him happiness. I will never, for all my days,
forget the glow in his eyes when he would sing something. That is another
thing that points to something being very wrong. Burke has totally quit
singing. He barely even mouths the words to songs anymore.
My Burke is a sweet amazing boy. He doesn't deserve what he goes through every day. His classmates alternate between ignoring and tormenting him. He's shy, smart, and a bit on the small side, so they make him the butt of their jokes or push him around. If he had a mean bone in his body, Burke could be one of those kids who shoot up their school. It's that bad. I've held him when he gets to the point where he just cries and cries. You'd think home would be an escape, but you'd be wrong, dead wrong. It's worse. At least at school people know he exists. His mother, my older sister, only acknowledges Burke when she is angry or wants something. He does all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and maintenance. Any time she actually talks to him, it's like he's a burden or a slave, always insulting. The rest of the time it's like he doesn't exist. His mother is an elitist Christian. Burke doesn't agree with some of the things she believes, so she's decided he is evil and won't associate with him. Sometimes I seriously doubt if she loves him.
Instead of getting mad at the people who treat him badly, Burke turns his anger inward. He tries hard to be or do what others want, but ends up getting hurt worse. He is so angry at himself, and that has driven him to the point he is at now. Most of the people around him either hate or ignore him, and nothing he does seems to matter to the ones he cares about. Even I would feel very depressed if I lived my life like that.
What am I asking of you? I'm not sure. Burke needs someone to make him feel loved and worthy, and, as much as it hurts to say it, I'm not enough. I guess I'm asking you to save my nephew before there is nothing left to save, to step in before the flickering light of life is completely
swallowed up by darkness. Honestly, I don't know if I'm writing this too
late. He may be too far gone, or taking his last breaths at this moment. I
pray that there is still time. Please, please, help Burke. I don't care
what it costs. I'm willing to pay anything. Please.
Yours truly,
Lisa Franklin
Burke carefully folded the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope, returning it to Lance. He said nothing, his mind reeling at the words his aunt had written, the truths they spoke all too clearly. He gradually became aware of their curious staring, but refused to fall into pity. His mind was made up. His death was the only option left, the only thing that would make everyone happy. Burke wished he was alone, the scabbed over holes in his skin screaming for attention, promising a release from the moment.
"So?" Justin ventured, breaking the uneasy silence blanketing them like smothering fog.
Burke knew he had to play this well. They almost had a glimpse of his thoughts and desperation, but had to be coaxed into believing what he had convinced so many of. "So what? Most of this is wrong. Lisa thinks she's on the right track, but she's totally off base." He smiled at them sweetly. "Although a letter like this is certain to bring anyone down, do I look like someone who is on the verge of killing themselves?"
Their scrutiny was intense, all of them trying to decide if Lisa was wrong, or if Burke was hiding. "What is she right about in the letter?" Chris asked.
"That I do pretty well in school, that I've won some awards in choir, that I listen to your music a lot. The rest is wrong. I'm sorry you've wasted what little free time you all probably have, but I'm just fine. It's been a pleasure meeting you though, a once in a lifetime experience." Burke wanted to get away quickly, not trusting himself to keep everything under wraps.
"It's nothing, so don't apologize. We love meeting our fans. This is another high point for us. But there's one more thing." Joey pulled Burke to his feet and into a tight hug. He hoped the affection would melt Burke's steely screens. The boy stiffened, caught off guard, but then returned the embrace. How many people could claim they were hugged by their hero?
Lisa stood in a sheltering grove of thick pine trees, hidden by their pungent boughs, watching the scene unfolding before her. Her breath stilled as Burke read the letter she had written. She didn't know how he would react, but her deepest hope was that his hardy shields would melt away once confronted with proof someone loved him. She was too far away to see his expression, but his body was tense, as were the singer's. Lisa prayed for her nephew and the men who had come to rescue him. She asked God for something only able to be called a miracle. A smile broke out upon her face when Burke and Joey hugged, desperately wanting to believe they had gotten through to him.Joey's arms tightened, sliding firmly over Burke's shoulders. A soft yelp escaped the boy's lips as the pressure upon one of his self-inflicted wounds grew intense. Burke was instantly released, concern staining the older man's face. "I'm sorry. I didn't think I was squeezing that tight."
"It's not that. You just hit-" Burke bit his tongue, coming dangerously close to betraying himself. Always quick thinking, he finished his sentence, telling a easily believed lie. "You just hit a sore place on my shoulder. My bed is old, and sometimes I get a crook from sleeping wrong. Don't worry about it." He looked openly at them, smiling, wondering if they would question his excuse. To further distract them, Burke played his most useful card, deference. He immediately began asking them questions about the group and their lives, not caring if he sounded like their average fan or a reporter. His only goal was keeping them at bay, keeping them away from the pain he would end in a few hours.
Surprised at Burke's sudden chattiness, the men answered everything he asked, thinking they had started to earn his trust and were breaking down his walls. Throughout the pseudo interview, they noticed Burke reaching back to the spot he claimed was hurting.
Burke listened intently to all the singers had to say, though his attention was partially drawn to the rivulet of blood he felt trickling down his back, hot and slick as it mixed with tiny beads of sweat. It was a punishment, a reminder of what was his load to carry in stoic silence. He held an enrapt gaze, fighting the urge to scream as his fingernails probed broken skin. He relished the agony, knowing it would be over none too soon. Burke searched the faces before him, wanting a memory to carry him to eternal peace. This would be what he saw as he swung from a rope and death washed over him. At that moment, Burke knew he had made the right decision. This last piece of pleasure could only be a gift, a dream fulfilled before life was snuffed out. He grinned at the thought, pleased he would be able to die holding on to a sliver of happiness. There would be no visions of his mother, his classmates, his many failures and mistakes. His eyes would close seeing only NSYNC. His thoughts would be of the impending bliss and this moment of unexpected joy."Burke? Everything ok?" Chris asked, breaking Burke's reverie.
"Huh? Yeah, just listening to you all. It must be amazing to travel the world like you do."
"It's fantastic!" JC raved.
"I can't imagine what it's like. To have millions of people around the world love you."
That was the opportunity Lance had been waiting for, a chance to return to the mission they had strayed from. He inwardly chuckled. Burke had expertly switched the attention from him to their careers. "They don't love us, they love the idea, and that can change from day to day. Our families and friends are where the real love is at. You know how that is." It was a loaded statement, just as he meant it to be.
"Lance is right," Joey added, catching on to his friend's train of thought. "It's the people we are close to who really care."
Burke sat there, sullen, thinking about the people he cared for, the ones who ignored his existence. He was hated, not loved. "I know what you are thinking, Burke, but you are so wrong," JC broke in. "Lisa cares. She cares enough to write that letter. And you know what? We care. That's why we're here. We could've just sent some autographed pictures or something, but your life is worth much more than that."
"That means a lot to me, guys, but you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm just fine. Better than fine. Meeting you all is a dream come true. It's a memory I'll always cherish. Now, please stop all this morbid stuff. I want to enjoy myself."
Burke lay in his bed, his mind reeling with the events of the day. His afternoon had been spectacular, better than anything he could have wished for. As their music played softly, Burke thought about his brush with NSYNC. Perhaps in another life or time, he could have been friends with Joey, Justin, Lance, JC, and Chris. His only regret was that he had to be so guarded, carefully choosing every word and pretending to want to be alive. They had ambushed him, but did not conquer or deter him from doing the right thing. There were too many things, too many live riding on him going to his death. Feeling the slightest tinge of guilt, Burke wrote an apology to his aunt and the singers, hoping they would forgive his lies and understand the reasons why he had to die. Determined, Burke crept to the lower floor of the house, rattling snores reaching his ears. His mother and sister were sound asleep in that late hour. Returning to his room, he placed his funeral plans in the middle of the neatly made bed. Gathering the rope, laying patiently for this time to come as if it knew its destiny, Burke opened the narrow doorway separating his room from the rest of the attic, and walked in. He slowly, methodically, tied a loop in the end of the rope, making sure he could tighten it once around his neck. Burke pulled a chair, relegated to the black room for it's splintered seat, under a joist in the peak of the roof. Standing on his tip toes, he lashed the cable, yanking to test its strength. Ready, he wriggled his head through the noose, pulling the knot taut. Burke concentrated on the pictures his mind had taken earlier, his ears straining to hear the music that had once soothed the deadly beast inside him. He wanted no part of the past, no memories of everyone who detested him. His breathing slowed, the serenity he craved at his fingertips and fast approaching. He remembered the short, impromptu concert he had been given as he kicked the chair away. Instead of feeling the jerk of the rope, Burke felt the warmth of the hugs he received when they parted ways. He heard their laughter instead of his whispered gagging. No tears fell from Burke's squinted eyes. He saw only the faces of five men who had touched him in so many ways. Blackness clouded his thoughts, his head becoming light and fuzzy. He had been happy once, and, in those last seconds, was again. A faint smile blossomed on Burke's lips as his lungs ceased to struggle and the world ceased to exist. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A groggy voice answered the telephone on the fourth ring. "Hello?" "May I speak to Lance please?" "This is he." Frantic, desolate sobbing reached the sleepy man's ears. "Lance, this is Lisa. Something awful has happened! Burke--he--"I'm sorry for doing this to you all, but I couldn't help myself. Please be assured this is a cliffhanger and not the end. I know this chapter is a little choppy, but I couldn't let Burke's problems vanish simply because of NSYNC.
I stole the first part from a commercial from one of the "Scream" movies. I've always thought it was hilarious.
I look forward to hearing from you all. You can reach me at cameronwriter@hotmail.com