Amnesia and Star Child

“Hey Nona.” Leila greeted, sitting down at the familiar stall again.
“How are you child?” Nona Alda smiled her friendly granny smile.
“What’s happening?”
Nona Alda smile wavered and she looked down at her hands.
“The Star Child is sick. Dying I fear. A grave day for the Child it really is.” She murmured.
Leila hesitated.
“Nona, who is the Star Child?” She asked.
Nona looked up and frowned, shaking her head sadly.
“I don’t know. I get a feeling in my bones, and I just follow my instincts. The Star Child is here, sick and possibly dying, but I can’t help because I don’t know who the Star Child is.” Nona Alda looked up again. “Take this...” She held out a small music box.
Leila looked at it and then up at Nona Alda who was watching her with all seriousness.
“You remember that?” She asked.
“Yes...” Leila’s brow furrowed as the sound of the music box filled the air. “It’s not Chopin is it?”
Nona Alda beamed.
“Yes dear it is. Keep it... For good luck.” Nona Alda said, lowering her voice. “The Star Child needs help, and Chopin may do the trick.”
“Thanks Nona...” Leila thanked her.
She wanted to ask more questions, but she had to go for a hair appointment.
“Thank you very much... Um, I’ll see you around Nona, I’ve got to cruise.” Leila said.
“That’s quite alright dear, off you trot.” Nona Alda waved goodbye as Leila walked off to her car and drove away.

As Leila turned onto the next street, she was met by the most peculiar scene.
Reporters had flocked outside of the hospital and were crowding around the entrance way, talking into cameras and motioning to the building behind them.
Leila pulled over and got out of the car, walking over to where other members of the public were standing.
“What’s going on?” She asked the person standing next to her - not really expecting a reply in English.
“Man from... Band. Sick.” The man’s English was heavily accented and fractured, but he was trying his best. “Big... Err... Scare. Very sick.”
“What band?” She asked.
“Linkin Park.” He replied.
Leila’s heart jumped in shock.
“Really? Oh my god... Who is it? Is he okay? What’s wrong with him?” Leila asked.
The man shook his head and started speaking in French before finding the right words.
“Mike Shinoda. Just sick. Don’t know... Details -” The man sighed in frustration at himself. “None. Don’t know.”
“Thankyou sir.” Leila thanked the man and walked around closer to the reporters, hoping to catch an English version.

~*~*~

I could hear crying and voices, sounds from telepathic links, but the crying and some of the voices were closer.
My eyes flicker open and I turn my head towards the sound.
It’s Chester, his head is bowed and he’s gripping a useless hanky in his fists, sobbing uncontrollably while Brad sits there grimly patting his back.
Why is he crying? Chester never cries.
My gaze shifts and I see Rob, he’s sitting there blankly, head in hands. Phoenix, rocking in his chair, his leg quivering in that nervous habit he has, then Joe, who’s sitting so still and expressionless he could possibly be just a wax dummy.
What is going on?
Suddenly everything comes back to me.
And I’m still alive.
Dammit.
I look down at my arms, they’re aching, and they’re covered in stark, clean white bandages.
How long have I been here?
I sigh and somehow find the strength to pull myself upright.
“Dude you’re awake!” Brad grins with relief.
“State the obvious.” I snap.
Chester looks up with that - his eyes are puffy from crying, and he’s sniffing a lot.
He gets up and walks over to me, hugging me tightly, so tight I can’t breathe.
“Chaz - you’re choking me!” I manage to gasp.
Chester lets go.
“What the fuck do you think you were playing at?!” Chester breaks down in a fresh wave of tears.
“Dude... Calm down...” I say, reaching out to him.
He bats my arm away by my hand and glares at me, tears streaming freely down his cheeks.
“Don’t do it - Jesus Mike it’s not worth it...” He chokes and staggers back to his seat, sitting down and putting his head in his hands.
I sigh and look down at my arms, but only see the bandages, so I look the other way.
Nothing more is spoken for ages - I mean, what could I say?
“How long have I been here for?” I ask finally.
“A day or so.” Brad mutters.
Silence again.
Until a doctor walks in.
“Mr. Shinoda. How are you feeling?” He asked gently.
“Ask a fuckin’ stupider question and I’ll belt you.” I grumble.
“Right.” He turns to Brad who’s still attempting to console Chester.
“We’ll have to keep him in for twenty four hours under suicide watch, given the circumstances, it may be longer. A psychiatrist will be coming in for counselling and we’ll go from there.” He said in a low voice.
“Okay, thanks.” Brad thanked him and turned back to Chester who was even now attempting to create a lake under his feet.