This story contains FICTION of a male-male nature. Do not read this if you are:

  1. too young, or
  2. too narrow-minded, or
  3. living in a city/state/country where it is illegal.

Again, this is FICTION. While I have bumped into the BSB here and there in Orlando, I do not make any claims about any of their sexualities.

NOTE: If you have not read 'Forever', I suggest you do so before reading this story.

Equilibrium: Beyond Forever

by: DJ

Chapter 6

The Present

The ringing phone brought me abruptly back to myself. I stood from my chair on the deck, stumbling slightly as I gained my feet. I'd had a few additional shots of medicine, so my control wasn't very good.

I managed to make my way into the house to the kitchen. I didn't bother to look at the caller ID. This number was never given to vendors or any type of outside business. Only Stephanie had it. Or so I thought.

"Hello...yeah," I mumbled into the receiver, my words coming out slightly slurred.


It was him. He'd called earlier, and I'd forgotten. Forgotten he somehow had this number. Forgotten he was trying to get a hold of me. Or tried my damnedest to forget.

"Nick," I said his name, not even bothering to make it sound like a question. I knew it was him, as surely as I knew my own name.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied.

The line was filled suddenly with silence, as though he didn't know what to do with me now that he actually got me on the phone. I figured I'd get a few questions answered.

"How did you get this number, Nick?" I asked, my voice harsh with anger and pain.

"It wasn't that hard. You didn't leave much of a credit trail, but I had my management staff hire a private detective firm. They were able to find your business number via your travel and employment records. Your secretary gave me your home number."

I should've known, really. I truly hadn't made it that hard to be found. I'd changed my name, started using my middle name of Jacob and my mother's maiden name. Since the house and all my credit were in that name, I'd figured that would be enough to discourage anyone interested in finding me. And, it had worked. For a while.

"What do you want, Nick?" I practically snarled the question at him.

"Dylan, man, please, it's been over a year. Can't you just talk to me?" he asked, the anguish in his voice palpable.

I felt myself feeling sorry, missing him. I immediately slammed the door on those thoughts. I would not be lured in. I would not go down that road again.

"No, Nick," I replied as cold and emotionless as I was able. "I can't. I won't. The past is buried. There's only today. There is no yesterday. There is no tomorrow."

"Dylan, come on, I..."

"No, Nick. Dylan is dead. I suggest you accept that and move on."

I hung up the phone, my heart a cold, barren rock in my chest.

Chapter 7

The Past




"...unable to resuscitate..."


"...blow to the head..."


"...without oxygen too long..."


"...unable to resuscitate..."


"...unable to resuscitate..."

"...time of death approximately 1:15pm..."


"...time of death..."


My son was dead.

I would never see him smile at me again.

My son was dead.

I would never hear him giggle when I tickled him again.

My son was dead.

And it was all my fault.

Chapter 8


The voice was an intrusion.

Go away.

Leave me alone.

Just let me die.

"Dylan, please..."

There was pain in the voice.


"Dylan, come on," the voice spoke again. "Please, talk to me."

I felt a weight sink onto the bed behind me. I didn't move. I hadn't moved in days. Or weeks. Or maybe it was months now. I didn't know. I didn't care.

My son was dead.

And it was all my fault.

"Dylan," the voice again, this time joined by a hand. I stayed where I was, not acknowledging him, hoping he'd go away. My hopes faded when he spoke again.

"You can't stay like this forever," he said.

Wanna bet?

"You have to come out, Dylan. Please. We need you," he begged.

"No you don't, Brian," I whispered, still refusing to move.

"Yes, we do, Dylan," Brian responded, his soft voice echoing in the empty room.

"Why, Brian?" I asked, my voice dry, cracking. "You need me to kill someone else's child like I killed my own?"

I heard him gasp. I felt him pull his hand back from my shoulder. Somehow, in the twisted darkness that had become my world, this was good. It was good to hurt.

He placed his hand back on my shoulder, again nudging me to turn to face him. When I didn't, he applied more force, pushing me over onto my back.

"Look at me," he said, his voice now firm and strong in the dim room.

I refused to move.

"Dylan," he said, this time putting his hand to my face and forcing me to meet his eyes.

"You did not kill your son, Dylan," he said, emphasizing his words by squeezing my chin. "It was an accident."

"No, Brian," I whispered, the tears starting again. "It wasn't."

"What are you talking about, Dylan? Preston fell into the pool. He hit his head."

"It wasn't an accident, Brian," I whispered again. I looked into those shining blue eyes, so pure they felt like a knife blade to my soul.

"It was neglect, Brian. Plain and simple. I should've been awake. Or called someone to watch him if I couldn't. But, I didn't. And now, he's dead. Because I fell asleep."

p>"Dylan," he almost sighed. I could feel the sadness in his voice, the sympathy. "It WAS an accident. You fell asleep. You were exhausted. Preston," he choked on the name, "Preston was supposed to be in his room. You didn't know he would go outside."

"I should've known."

"But, you didn't know. And you didn't know he would jimmy open the pool gate."

"I should've known."

"Dylan," he began. I tore myself away from him and stalked to the corner before turning to face him again.

"I'm his father, Brian! I SHOULD'VE KNOWN!" I screamed at him.

"Dylan," he tried to speak again.

"Get out, Brian," I whispered, turning my back on him again. I didn't hear him move, so I turned to face him again, rage on my face.


He stared at me a moment, obviously at a loss as to what to do. Finally, he sighed, nodding in defeat. He silently slipped from the bed, moving over to the door. He turned to look at me when he opened it. I looked away, no longer able to bear his gaze. A moment later, I heard the door close.

"Anything?" the muffled voice was Nick's.

"Not really," Brian replied. Absently, I wondered if they realized I could hear them.

"We have to do something, B," Nick said. "They can't go on like this. Dylan hasn't eaten in two days. He barely drinks anything. Kevin's only a little better. And Kari," he stopped there. I felt a knife in my heart.

"I know, Nick," Brian spoke before Nick could continue. "But, we can't force it."

"I know we can't, Brian," he replied. "I just feel so...helpless."

`Join the club, Nicky,' I thought as I resumed my place on the bed. I curled up again, refusing to face the world for as long as possible. Preferably forever.

Author's Notes:

A fairly short chapter again. Sorry, all, but I've been strapped for time these last days. And, unfortunately, it's not likely to get better. I have home projects to get done, and now's the best time for it.

For those who actually read the disclaimer (yeah, yeah, I know), you might notice that the text has changed slightly. It no longer indicates that I don't know any of the Boys personally. That's right, folks, he's met a Backstreet Boy.

Okay, so we didn't like bond and become life-long friends in a five second introduction, but it was sort of cool nonetheless. Anyone wanna guess which one it was?

I suppose I could do a contest: Guess the BSB that DJ met and win HUGE CASH AND PRIZES!!!



If ya believe that, I got ocean front property for sale in New Mexico. Hell of a bargain for the first 100 customers.

But, seriously, anyone who wants to guess should drop me an e-mail. No special prize, but it'll be fun to see who y'all guess. Include circumstances you imagine for it, if you'd like. Best story will get a spot in my next Notes section. And, I'll drop in the true story, too.

For those who'd want a hint: He and Dylan share a sign.

L8r, all.