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Dead as a doornail	By : fundamellie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pet Shop Boys Views: 798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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This phantom moved closer painfully slowly. Watching it, I had the weird impression of time being stretched. My third visitor stopped barely an arm’s length away from where I stood. Suddenly everything around me seemed to be drenched in misery and trepidation. I fought hard to resist the urge to kneel down and bow my head in front of this fearsome visitor. Instead I forced myself to look directly at the now motionless phantom. Had it not held out one hand, pointing at a spot behind me, I would have had difficulties separating it from the blackness that had descended upon us with its arrival. The spirit was shrouded completely in black. The loose, flowing garment concealed everything: its head, its face, its form. All I could see was a vague outline, a hood falling low into the space where the creature’s face should have been, the faint glint of eyes somewhere in the deeps of black and that motionless hand. I had to look up to be able to examine the phantom; it was so tall that it towered above my like a black cloud. It looked like one of those Dementors from the Harry Potter movies.
It did not move or speak and I felt the seconds ticking by. The silence unnerved me so I finally asked:
“Are you the Spirit of Christmases to come? The Spirit of Chances I might have in the future?”
I received no answer but I had the impression that I was intently studied.
“So you will show me things that have not happened yet but are very likely to happen in the future? Is that true?”
The hood moved the tiniest bit but I took that as a confirmation. Even though I had had my fair share of ghostly companions by now, this one made me so uncomfortable and anxious that my legs felt like jelly as I tried to follow the creature’s direction and turn around. The spirit looked on, as if waiting for me to recover. Somehow this made it only so much worse; knowing that this creature was watching my every move whereas I could not see past the black no matter how hard I tried.
“Of all the spirits I’ve seen so far, you’re the one I fear the most,” I said into the gloom. “But as this is all for my own good, I’m prepared to go through with it.”
Again there was no answer, only the outstretched hand that pointed ahead.
“Show me what you want me to see. I’ll pay attention and accept the lessons taught. Go ahead now, please!”
The phantom moved away as it has moved towards me and I hurried to follow in the shadow of its dress. I was lifted up and carried along somehow but I was too scared to wonder how this was possible.

The city seemed to move in around us and we were suddenly in the same area in Hackney were I had been earlier that night. It was the same house, the same flat and the same family. This time however the atmosphere there was anything but cheerful.
We had passed right into the living room and I saw Julian and Anne sitting on opposite ends of the dinner table, looking gloomy. There were pictures on the wall showing the three kids in various poses – Charlie dressed up like a fairy in a school play, Kieran with the football team, Jonah flying a kite. They all had grown considerably and I concluded at least 5 or 6 years must have passed.
“It’s so sad that he had to end up like this,” I heard Julian say.
Anne nodded and wiped at tears running down her cheeks.
“More than a shame,” she observed. “I still think that it needn’t have come to this.
It could’ve been prevented, if someone I won’t name now had put a bit more effort in.”
Julian sighed heavily and nodded hesitantly, as if it painted him to agree.
“The only thing we can do is keep making an effort. I will visit him every other day after work and Eric said that Luzie and he will go every weekend. And Kevin, too.”
“Do you think he’ll ever recover?”
The couple faced each other across the table and what Julian did not say spoke volumes.
I had the impression that whoever they were talking about was completely out of luck.
“His father told me that it’s not likely that he’ll ever be able to live on his own again. Looks like the psychological ward at St Bartholomew's Hospital is going to be his new home.”
I was confused. Whom were they talking about? And what did the fate of that poor soul have to do with me? At first I had thought they were discussing Joseph Greenleaf, Kevin’s former boyfriend but he had been in psychological care for years so it made no sense. I threw a sidelong glance at the phantom but it gave no explanation.
Again it pointed forward with its outstretched hand. I took a few steps and without warning found myself in another room. It smelled of disinfectant and menthol very faintly and I immediately thought of Eric. And indeed I saw him sitting on the sofa, talking to somebody on the phone.
“Yes, I spoke to him about it but he told me that it isn’t his business anymore,” he said. “Then he hung up on me. Just like that.”
Eric listened for a moment.
“Well, we all knew that the quit was hard on him but still I’d hoped he would find something else to hang on to.” He shook his head sadly.
“Julian went to say prayers for him as soon as he heard the news and I’m going to join him tonight.”
I frowned at this bit of conversation. So the partner of whoever Julian and Anne had been talking about had deserted him and the poor lad had taken it so hard that he had developed mental problems. It was very tragic indeed. I felt sympathy for the unknown guy but I wished I knew whom they were referring to and what effect this had on me.
I didn’t dare to ask the phantom and knew that it most likely would stay as silent as before. I felt a light tapping on my shoulder and found that the spirit’s hand was pointing ahead once more.
This time we caught Kevin in conversation with his father. They were walking down a street with only a few passers by crossing their way. It was a windy day and dark clouds loomed low and promised rain. I identified the surroundings when they passed
St. Bartholomew's Church. If they turned the next corner they would enter Turner Street which leads to St. Bart’s. I followed close behind them, curious about whom they were about to visit.
“Better don’t mentioned that Eric phoned up his ex,” George advised Kevin, who nodded grimly.
“I can’t even be bothered to say his name.” he grumbled. “He could’ve just as well torn the boy’s heart out; it would’ve had the same effect.”
George sighed but did not object. Then he frowned and went on.
“Don’t expect too much of this visit, Kev. Could be that your friend won’t even recognize you. They say he doesn’t speak, he hardly moves and he refuses to eat.”
Kevin closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard.
“I know, Eric told me. I’ll be okay; I’ve seen this kind of thing before.”
They had entered the hospital and asked at the busy reception for the room number.
I could not hear what they were saying and whose name they mentioned, it was so loud in the entrance hall. People were talking, somebody in the distance screamed and some kids were crying. We followed Kevin and his father down several corridors, up some stairs and down one more corridor. They were met by a nurse in front of a closed door which seemed to be logged. She explained in a hushed vice that they had 20 minutes with the patient and that she would be in the room the whole time in case some emergency arose. She told them not to be afraid as the patient was not dangerous even though he was quite severely disturbed. Kevin and George nodded gravely and followed as the nurse unlocked the door and led them into the sparsely furnished room. Against common believe the walls were neither white nor padded but instead painted a creamy shade of blue. The bed was fastened to the wall, the chair and the small table were completely made out of plastic and all hard edges had been rounded and smoothed out. It was a rather depression sight. No pictures adorned the walls; no personal item could be seen. The room gave no indication who might have found his final home within its walls. The patient sat cross-legged on top of the bed, back turned towards the door and starred at the wall. The slim frame looked oddly familiar, even though I could not recall be acquainted with any young man whose hair was completely white. He did not stir as his friend approached him. I looked up and saw George and the nurse talking quietly in the corner by the window. Kevin stood there motionless for a long moment; then he carefully placed his hand on the other guy’s shoulder.
“Hi there,” he whispered. “It’s me, Kevin.”
The phantom hovered next to me. Its shadow seemed to darken the scene, it surrounded me so completely. Even though it did no move or speak, I felt it wanted me to pay closer attention. I felt like I was been given a warning. The young man turned around in slow-motion. His eyes were vacant and travelled around the room searchingly before they landed on Kevin. No recognition showed on his drawn, empty face. His gaze did not linger on his friend, it danced across the room; unfocused, unseeing, uncomprehending. It was an old face, a resigned face. One that had been marked by bitter disappointment and unbearable loneliness.
Had I not known the person sitting on that bed, I would have found the sight chilling and moving. I would have felt pity for that person whose eyes had lost every spark of life.
I would have felt anger towards the unknown person who had treated that young man so badly that he was in this state now. But I knew the person sitting on the bed, knew him only too well. Seeing him like this, as an inmate in a psychological institution did more to me than chill me, upset me or anger me. It shocked me so much that I did not know what I was thinking or feeling anymore. It was the worst experience in my life, worse even than learning that Jeffery had been diagnosed with HIV and being told that he had died. Worse than finding out that my first boyfriend had betrayed me. Worse than all the fights and quits I had ever gone through combined.
A sharp pain cut right through me and if I had thought I knew how deep a cutter’s knife could slice, I had been wrong. This time the knife cut all the way, right to the bone and deeper still. It was unlike anything I had ever endured. It shook up the very foundation of who and what I was. It was terrible, dreadful. It hurt like hell.
The young man on the bed was none other than Stefan! I had known that he was not doing well. I had witness his physical and mental decline since that very Christmas. Also the Spirit of Christmas Present had indicated that to me. Still I couldn’t have imagined in my worse nightmares that it would come to this. That Stefan would end up like this. So broken; so lost; so beyond hope.
The pain was even worse because it was caused not only by pity or compassion but also by bitter guilt and shame. Nobody had to spell it out to me; I knew only too well that that ex-boyfriend who had turned his back on Stefan had been me. I had done run from my obligations in the past, I was doing it in the present and apparently I continued doing it in the future.
I was at a total loss for words, I could not even cry. The horror was too overwhelming, it froze everything. I could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at the boy sitting on the bed. The boy who had become an empty shell. The boy whom I still loved so much. The boy who had loved me too much. Stefan! Dear God, Stefan!
I turned to face my ghostly companion and tucked at his sleeves.
“Please, tell me that this is only what will happen if the present isn’t changed. Tell me that this is not how it has to end! Please!”
Of course I did not get an answer but I felt the eyes of the spirit fixed on me.
The outstretched hand pointed forwards again and reluctantly I took a few steps.
A new landscape sprang up around us as if out of nowhere. We were in a part of London I knew very well, as Chris, my partner in the Pet Shop Boys, lived there. This was Clerkenwell but I did not recognize some of the shops on that busy main street. For a change it was a fine, sunny day and the blue sky stretched unlimited above us. I saw Chris and Daniel sitting together at a small table outside of a little Italian restaurant. Chris wore his obligatory sunglasses and baseball cap but despite of this I could see that he was much older now. Logically, the same applied to Daniel. There were streaks of grey in Daniel’s blond hair and crow’s feet around his eyes. He looked at Chris with a resigned, sad face-expression, waiting for a reply. Chris picked at his food listlessly and sad nothing for a while. Then he looked up and dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.
“No way I’m going there and tell him I won’t reconsider,” he said emphatically.
“I told him two year’s ago, I told him every time he called and I told everybody at EMI.
I quit, I’m retired and I plan to stay just that.”
“I know, I know” Daniel sighed wearily. Still he pushed his point some more.
“But without you he’s nothing left. You know the story better than anybody else. Nobody speaks to him since they locked Stefan away. Even his sister now refuses to see him, after he had the terrible row with her last Christmas. He has nothing to do. He…”
“Stop it, Danny!” Chris snapped. “Yeah, I know all of that. I know more than you. I’ve been there. I had to deal with him almost every day. I put up with his moods, with his anger and the violence. I watched him falling asleep in the recording booth because he was more than pissed. I told him, I’ll put up with everything he does in private as long as he pulls himself together when the band is concerned. He promised he would but he didn’t. Come on, Danny. You know what happened. You saw him messing up time and time again. You know as well as I do that he lost it ages ago. He couldn’t write a decent rhyme these days if his life depended on it!”
“Maybe it does,” Daniel only remarked quietly.
“It’s his own fault!” Chris exploded and banged his fist on the table. “His life depends more on himself than on me. As long as he’s not going to give up drinking I won’t speak to him. When’s he been sober last? Don’t try to give me a bad conscience, Parker. I don’t know why you put up with all of that shit anyway.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Daniel muttered. “Without me, he’d be all alone.”
Chris nodded slowly and shook his head slightly.
“Don’t think I don’t wish it was different. I’d start it all over again tomorrow if I believed he was himself again. But he’s not and he’s busy destroying everything he ever was and I can’t stand to watch that.”
I felt a new dread rising within me. Could it be that Daniel and Chris were talking about me? What kind of person had I become, if even Chris refused to talk to me?
I felt sick with apprehension; it was hard to believe that Chris had quit the Pet Shop Boys on his own account. Something really bad must have had happened. I did not dare to imagine what I could have done to provoke that response. I had always assumed that we would carry on forever, until one of us was too ill or too old to go on stage. I never thought we would part on bad terms. It was a horrible prospect. I felt like something big and cold had been placed inside of my stomach. I couldn’t stand this any longer; I desperately wanted to get away from that bleak future. What good was it if everything that had been dear to me was missing? What good was knowing about the horrible failures if they could not be changed?
“Take me back, I wanna see no more,” I pleaded with my companion but it only hovered behind me, totally unimpressed by my desperation. Instead it lifted its hand again and pointed forward. Another shiver ran down my spine. What horrors would come next?
I wanted to protest, to ask if all of this was destined to happen or if events could be altered but before I could open my mouth, I found myself in another place yet again.
I had not been in this flat before, even though some of the furniture looked familiar.
The place was a complete mess. It was crammed full of antiques and books and note pads and what have you. It was suffocating and I felt claustrophobia closing in on me. There really wasn’t enough space to breathe in there. Dust collected everywhere, the grimy curtains were drawn and the bit of light that found its way into the room was grey and dull. Countless of half full and empty and even broken bottles were scattered everywhere and the overheated air smelled of dust and smoke and alcohol. It took me a long while to spot the person slumped in the armchair at the far end of the room.
It seemed to be an old guy who was completely bald and either he was very ill or very drunk. His eyes were open but he started into the space before him without moving a muscle. He seemed to be in a right stupor, totally oblivious to everything around him. Not that there was anything around him that would have required his attention anyway. The phantom urged me on, so I took a few steps closer. The sense of unease grew with every one I took but somehow I could not stop. A morbid fascination drove me on. When I got a better look at the person in the armchair what I had feared ever since we had entered the flat was confirmed. I had finally come face to face with my future self. Nothing had prepared me for what I saw, not all of the bitter remarks my friends had made, or the terrible state Stefan had been in, not even what Chris had said.
I saw a wasted man, drowned by addiction and self-pity. I saw someone who had lost his pride, his determination and his ideals. I saw a drunken, angry man who would die alone. I could hardly breath, I was shaking all over. Fear closed an icy hand around my heart and regret choked me.
“This can not be, please… Please, this is not real. This can not be, this can not…,”
I stammered. I felt so low, crushed and desperate, I did not know what else to do but plead.
“Please, spirit, tell me that this can be changed. Don’t be cruel and show me thinks if there is nothing I can do to change them. Please! Tell me, is there a chance left?”
I grabbed its robe and pulled at it, tried to shake some reaction out of it. None came.
“Please!” I was almost screaming now and halfway down to my knees when I saw the phantom nodding. It was the slightest movement of the shrouded head but it meant the world to me. There was hope left after all! Things could be mended! Stefan could be saved!
“Thanks! Thanks, spirit.” I heard myself muttering. I was so excited; my head was spinning with thoughts of how I could make up for whatever damage I had inflicted so far.
“I won’t forget the lessons of tonight. I won’t forget that in the present we shape our past and future. I will keep a bit of Christmas spirit in my heart all year. I promise…”
I sunk down and grabbed the ghostly robe. I wanted to hold on but it slipped from my fingers. I felt myself falling and muttered a quick prayer that indeed there was hope left, when I hit something hard. I climbed back to my feet and found that I had slipped from the armchair in the sitting room and that I was now sitting on the cold parquet.
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Dead as a doornail