As soon as the cabin door opened, he pulled his suitcase out of the overhead compartment and was one of the first passengers off the plane. He followed the signs for ground transportation and got into a taxi outside the airport. “I need to get to Lower Keys Medical Center,” he told the driver.
The man looked at him through his rearview mirror. “Is emergency?” he asked in a heavy Cuban accent.
“I hope not,” said Howie, swallowing hard. He held his phone in his hand the whole way to the hospital, waiting for it to vibrate with Brian’s reply. It had been an hour since Brian’s flight had landed, so he should have been at the hospital with Nick by then. When he didn’t text back, Howie started to worry. What if Nick had passed away while he was en route, and Brian was waiting to break the news to him in person?
Don’t think that way, Howie scolded himself. Nicky’s not dead. But that didn’t make him feel any less nervous when he walked through the front door of the hospital.
He looked uncertainly around the lobby, half-expecting Brian to be waiting there for him, since he hadn’t told Howie where to go. Howie took it as a good sign when he didn’t see him. He must be with Nick, he decided. But Brian didn’t answer when Howie called his phone, so he went to the front desk to ask where to find their friend.
“Hi, I need the room number for Nick Carter, please,” Howie told the receptionist. She was young, and he waited to see if she would recognize him or Nick’s name. If she did, she hid her reaction well.
“Sure, one second,” she replied, typing something quickly into her computer. “Sorry, what was the name again?”
That confirmed it for Howie: she had no idea who they were. Millennials, he thought with amusement. “Nick Carter. Actually, his full name is Nickolas - with a K.”
“Got it,” the girl said, as her fingers flew over the keyboard again. After a few seconds, she frowned. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not seeing a patient by that name.”
“Are you sure you spelled it right?” Howie asked. “It’s N-I-C-K-O-L-A-S. Last name C-A-R-T-E-R.”
“Yeah, that’s how I entered it, but nothing’s coming up. I’ll try it again.” The receptionist went more slowly this time, saying each letter aloud as she pressed the corresponding key. Then she turned her monitor to one side so Howie could see what she had typed. “Is this correct?”
He checked Nick’s name carefully to make sure there were no mistakes before he nodded. “Yep, that’s it.”
“Okay.” She swiveled the monitor back around and hit the enter key. “Still no results found,” she said after another moment.
Now it was Howie’s turn to frown. “He must be admitted under a different name. Have you heard of the Backstreet Boys?”
“Backstreet Boys?” she repeated, wrinkling her brow. “Yeah, I think my mom used to like them. Why?”
Howie tried his best to remain polite and patient, but it was getting harder by the second. “Well, Nick’s one of them. He may have used an alias to protect his privacy.”
“Okay… so what other name should I try?”
“Um…” Howie racked his brain, trying to remember some of Nick’s old alter egos. It had been so long since they’d been forced to use fake names for reservations, he couldn’t recall a single one. “I’m not really sure.” He felt like an idiot as he looked down at his phone, hoping to find a new message from Brian. But still, there was nothing. “Didn’t someone else ask you about him earlier? Short guy, blue eyes, sandy hair?”
The receptionist shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Are you sure you have the right hospital?”
Howie was starting to get irritated. “This is Lower Keys Medical Center, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my friend Brian got a call from someone at this hospital, telling them Nick had been admitted to the intensive care unit here,” Howie explained impatiently. “Can you call the ICU and check with them?”
“Yeah, sure. Hang on.” The receptionist picked up the phone and punched a few buttons. “Hi, this is Emily from the information desk. I have a visitor down here who’s asking about a patient. Do you have a Nick Carter on the floor? I can’t find his name in the system, but his friend says he might have been admitted under an alias because he used to be famous or something?”
Howie turned his head so she wouldn’t see him roll his eyes.
After listening for a long time, the woman finally said, “Okay… well, thanks for checking,” and hung up. She looked up at Howie through narrowed eyes. “The ICU clerk said there are no Backstreet Boys on her floor, that she would know if there were, and that one of their fans must be playing a practical joke on me.” She raised her eyebrows as if to ask if that was the case.
“What? No, I’m not a fan; I’m in the band! I’m one of the Backstreet Boys!” sputtered a flustered Howie. Then a startling thought occurred to him. Could this all be nothing but a bad prank cooked up by Nick and Brian?
“Well, do you know the name of the person who called your friend?” asked the receptionist.
“No, but I can try to find out,” said Howie, stepping back from the desk. His hands were sweating as he fumbled with his phone, his heart beating fast. If it turned out Nick and Brian had just been messing with him the whole time, he was going to feel so stupid. But would they joke about something this serious? He didn’t think so. This was too over the top, even for the two of them.
He tried calling Brian again, but only got his voicemail. “Brian, it’s Howie. Call me back as soon as you get this,” he said shortly and hung up. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Maybe Leighanne knows something, he thought. He decided to try Brian’s wife.
Leighanne answered on the second ring. “Hi - Howie?” She sounded slightly confused and a little concerned.
“Hey, Leighanne. Yeah, it’s me. Listen, have you heard from Brian since he landed in Key West?”
“Yeah, he texted me from the airport about an hour ago, but I haven’t talked to him since. Why, what’s going on?”
“Well, I just got to the hospital and can’t get a hold of him, and no one can tell me where Nick is. The woman at the front desk can’t find any record of him. We’re trying to figure out who called Brian from here in the first place. Do you have their name, by chance?”
“That’s so weird,” said Leighanne, sounding even more worried now. “I know it was a woman who left the message on his voicemail, but I never heard him say her name. I can probably find out what it was, though. Let me do some digging, and I’ll call you back in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay, thanks, Leighanne.” Howie hung up. Feeling the receptionist’s eyes on his back, he wandered away from the front desk to wait for Brian’s wife to get back to him. As a last resort, he tried calling Nick’s phone, not really expecting an answer. Sure enough, it went straight to voicemail. He left a message, even though he knew Nick might not hear it. “Hey Nicky, it’s me, Howie. You’ve got me really worried about you, man. I sure hope you’re okay.” He hung up, not sure what else to say. If this was just a joke, he hoped Nick would hear his voicemail and feel horribly guilty for making Howie think he was hurt or... worse.
As much as Howie hated being pranked, a part of him prayed he was on an episode of Punk’d because it was better than the alternative. He looked around, half-expecting Nick and Brian to jump out from behind a piece of furniture, shouting “Gotcha!” But nothing happened. Still, Howie clung to the hope that it had all been some kind of mistake.
His phone started vibrating in his hand, startling him. He looked down, hoping to see Nick or Brian’s name, but it was only Leighanne calling him back. “Hey, Leighanne,” he answered.
“I tried calling Husband, but he’s not answering me either,” she said, sounding both anxious and annoyed. “But I know the passcode for his voicemail box, so I looked up how to access it from my phone and was able to play back the message. The woman’s name was Danica Logan.”
“Danica Logan?” Howie repeated.
“That’s right.”
“Danica Logan. Got it. Thanks, Leighanne, that’s a huge help. I’ll have Brian call you back as soon as I find him.” Once he hung up, Howie went back to the front desk. “Danica Logan,” he told the receptionist. “That’s who called my friend.”
She frowned. “The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I’ll look her up in our employee directory.” Howie waited, his heart still pumping fast as he watched her enter the information into her computer. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have a Danica Logan working here.”
Howie shook his head. “How can that be? Both my friend and his wife heard the voicemail she left saying Nick was at this hospital!” He felt sick to his stomach. Something was very wrong.
The receptionist looked sympathetic. “I wish I knew what to tell you, sir, but I don’t know that I can help.”
“Can you at least tell me where the ICU is?” Howie asked, feeling like he was grasping at straws. “Maybe I could talk to someone up there.”
“Third floor,” replied the receptionist, pointing to the elevator. Howie took it upstairs, his heart pounding the whole time.
When the doors slid open, he stepped out and followed the signs to the intensive care unit, where he went through the whole process of trying - and failing - to get information once again. The ward clerk had never heard of Danica Logan and was sure she hadn’t let Brian in to see Nick because Nick, she insisted, was not a patient there. And, oh yes, she told Howie, she knew who the Backstreet Boys were, but had always been more of an ‘NSync fan herself.
Beyond frustrated, Howie turned and walked away. What was he going to do? How was he going to tell Leighanne her husband had disappeared?
That sounds crazy, he told himself. Brian didn’t just disappear. We’re in Key West, for crying out loud. It’s a small island; there are only so many places he could be. I just have to find him.
He wondered if Brian had stopped by the hotel before heading to the hospital. Maybe he was there now, waiting for Howie. Howie decided to check there first before he called Leighanne back, not wanting to upset her for no reason.
He took an Uber to the hotel where Brian had made a reservation, but was told Brian hadn’t checked in yet. This didn’t make Howie feel any better about the situation. Reluctantly, he booked a room of his own and went up to drop off his bag.
Once inside the room, he sat down on the edge of the bed and checked his phone again. Still nothing from Brian or Nick. As a last resort, Howie decided to call Lauren. If there was anyone else who might know something about Nick’s whereabouts, it would be his wife.
“Hi, Howie,” Lauren answered, and Howie immediately felt awkward. The last time he had talked to her was just before the U.S. leg of the tour, when he had called to offer his condolences on the loss of her baby. It had been four months since then.
“Hey, Lauren. How are you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m all right,” she replied, though Howie thought he heard a hint of melancholy in her tone. “Some days are harder than others. How have you been?”
“Not bad.” He took a breath before getting to the point. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping you can help. When was the last time you talked to Nick?”
“Not too long ago. He texted me on Halloween.”
Howie swallowed hard. It had been three days since Halloween. “And that’s the last you heard from him?”
“Yeah, why?” She didn’t wait for an answer, her voice rising with concern as she realized something was wrong. “Howie, is Nick okay?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Brian got a weird phone call about him this morning…” He filled her in as best he could, finishing, “...so now I can’t find either of them, and I have no idea what to do next.”
“Call the police,” was Lauren’s immediate response.
Howie raised his eyebrows. “You think it’s that serious?”
“Didn’t you just tell me Nick and Brian are both missing? Sounds pretty serious to me.”
“Yeah, but… don’t you think they might just be playing a prank on me?” Howie asked hopefully.
“Are you kidding? You really think Nick could convince Brian to call you and lie about him being in the hospital, plus get Leighanne to play along?”
Howie considered this. It didn’t seem likely, but… “You didn’t know Nick when he was best friends with Brian. You wouldn’t believe some of the pranks those two pulled off together back in the day.”
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about Nick as a teenager; we’re talking about Nick now. The Nick I know would never come up with something that cruel,” Lauren insisted. “And even if he did, there’s no way Brian and Leighanne would go along with it.”
“I know,” Howie admitted with a sigh, as he let go of the last hope to which he had been clinging. “I was kinda hoping you would think I was overreacting.”
“Believe me, I wish I did. But if you don’t call the police, I will.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll call them,” Howie agreed quickly, not wanting to upset her any more than he already had. Then another thought occurred to him. “But you know, I haven’t even been to Nick’s place yet to see if he’s home. Maybe I should go knock on his door first and make sure-”
“Howie, if he’s not answering his phone, he’s not gonna answer the door either,” Lauren interrupted, sounding exasperated. “Just call the cops and ask them to go to his house for a welfare check.”
Howie nodded. “That’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” he wondered. “Do you know where he’s staying?”
Lauren gave him the address of Nick’s rental property, which Howie scribbled onto a piece of hotel stationery. “Please call me back after you’ve talked to the police,” she begged him.
“I will,” he promised. “Don’t worry, Lauren. We’ll find Nick and Brian, and they’ll both be fine. This is probably just some stupid misunderstanding that we’ll all laugh about later.” He was trying to stay positive for her sake, but he wished he actually believed what he was saying himself.
He heard Lauren let out a shaky sigh. “I really hope you’re right,” she said, sounding just as anxious as he felt.
After they hung up, Howie looked up the number for the local police department and dialed. As he listened to the phone ring, he sucked in a deep breath, mentally rehearsing what he would say when someone answered.
“Key West Police Department,” came a crisp voice in his ear.
“Hi,” Howie replied nervously. “I need to report a missing person.”
***
The minutes ticked by as Howie hung around his hotel room, waiting for word from the police. The dispatcher he’d talked to had agreed to send an officer out to Nick’s place for a welfare check and promised to follow-up with a phone call to let him know what was found. In the meantime, there was nothing for Howie to do but wait.
He had spent at least half an hour on the phone with the wives - first Leighanne, then Lauren, and finally his own wife, Leigh - to update them on the latest. Then he had killed more time by calling the other guys in the group, Kevin and AJ, to let them know what was going on. Everyone was worried about Nick and Brian, but nobody more so than Leighanne, who booked the first flight she could find to Florida while Howie was still on the line with her. “Something has to be wrong,” she kept saying. “Husband would never go this long without returning my calls.”
The others took a more calm and rational approach, but made Howie promise to keep them posted. “If the police don’t find them tonight, I’ll fly out tomorrow to help search,” Kevin offered, and AJ agreed to do the same. But they all remained convinced that Brian and Nick would be located quickly. Key West, after all, was a small island with an area of less than six square miles. As Howie had thought earlier, there were only so many places they could be.
But that didn’t mean it was impossible for people to go missing there. As he was flipping through the channels - most of them news stations - on the TV, trying to distract himself, Howie caught part of a local story on another missing person from the Florida Keys.
“Police are asking for the public’s help in locating twenty-seven-year-old Stephanie Gale, who was reported missing from Key West on October twenty-first. Gale was last seen outside a Duval Street nightclub in the early morning hours of October nineteenth, wearing a black crop top and denim miniskirt,” the newscaster reported, as the picture of an attractive young woman appeared on the screen. “Stephanie Gale is five-foot-six and one hundred forty pounds, with dyed black hair, gray eyes, and a fair complexion. She has a skull and flowers tattooed on her left ankle and another tattoo of a caged bird on her right side. If you have any information on Gale’s disappearance, please contact the Key West Police Department at the number on your screen.”
Howie swallowed hard as he looked from the woman’s photograph to the phone number listed underneath, the very number he had called an hour earlier. The fact that this woman had been missing for two weeks without being found by Key West’s finest made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine not knowing where Nick or Brian were for another night, let alone two more weeks.
Suddenly, Howie’s phone rang, startling him half to death. His heart pounded against his ribs as he rushed to grab it off the nightstand. “Hello, this is Howie,” he answered, despite not recognizing the number on the screen. He assumed it had to be the police.
“Mr. Dorough, this is Detective Overton with the Key West Police Department,” replied the voice on the other line. “I’m calling to follow up on the welfare check you requested on your friend, Nickolas Carter.”
Howie’s mouth had gone dry. “Did you find him?” he asked hopefully, holding his breath as he waited for the detective to answer.
“Unfortunately, no, Mr. Carter wasn’t home. My officers were able to get a hold of the property owner, who granted them access to search the house. The good news is that they saw no signs of foul play or forced entry.”
Howie let out his breath in a low sigh. “But Nick and Brian are still missing.”
“Yes. That’s the bad news. I’m assuming you still haven’t heard from either of them?”
“No. Brian’s wife is on his way down from Georgia; she’s really worried. It’s not like either of them to disappear like this, but especially Brian. He’s really close with his family; he and his wife are practically attached at the hip. He wouldn’t go this long without calling her back.”
“Good - that’s the kind of information I’m going to need from you to get this investigation going,” said the detective. “Do you mind if I come ask you a few questions in person?”
“Of course not,” Howie replied, relieved that his report was being taken seriously. “Please, come over anytime.” He gave the detective the name of the hotel and his room number, then settled back down to wait.
Outside his window, the sky was already getting dark. It was going to be a long night.
***
