Date: Thu, 19 Oct 2000 20:51:11 -0400
From: Ricky Morse <rem14@cornell.edu>
Subject: celebrity/boy-bands/four-doors

***This is a complete rewrite from scratch, with many changes,
and a brief ending after the author's notes.***

Disclaimer: The following is a fib.  The names are real, but the
characters have been made up.  Although it would be pointless to
deny any similarity between the characters in the story and any
person living or dead, it is not pointless to deny any veracity
or implications in said similarities.

This work is copyright (c) 2000 by the author.  All rights
reserved.

----------

Four Doors

----------

	Four doors.  That's it.  Four doors, then back again, then,
finally, an out.

	Taking a deep breath, and double-checking that he had his
room key, he stepped out into the hall, quietly closing the door
behind him.  Earlier that day Howie had discovered (by accident),
that the doors closed by themselves, and locked automatically.
It wouldn't do to get locked out tonight.

	Four doors.  Not very far -- although with the slight curve
in the hotel corridor, the fourth door was just out of sight from
where he stood, so he couldn't actually see it.  He thought again
of sliding the note beneath Brian's door, but knew that he
couldn't.  Brian wouldn't see the note in the morning, but Kevin
never missed anything.

	He started down the corridor, slowly -- saying one last
goodbye.  Brian, of course, had the room right next to him.  If
he listened carefully, he would be able to just hear the sounds
of Brian's sleeping.  He lightly rested his hand on the frame.
Remembering Brian's infectious smile, a tear started to well up
in his eyes.  It was better this way -- Brian deserved so much
more than he could offer.  The tear itself was a sign of how much
he had lost.  Five years ago, he would have been able to do this
laughing and smiling.  But the control that he had once had --
the ability to _play_ the part of "Nick", the ability to control
"Nick" -- that was crumbling apart.  Soon, it would all be gone
-- leaving Nick at "Nick"'s mercy.  Better to stop it now.

	It was Brian, oddly enough, who had started it all.  If it
hadn't been for that one comment -- three words -- it might all
have happened differently.  Sighing, he withdrew his hand from
the door, and continued on, remembering....

	It had been cold -- not the kind of cold that made you feel
invigorated, but rather the dreary cold that crept in through
doors and windows, paying no attention to the myriad heaters on
the bus.  They had been in Germany at that time, now almost four
years ago.  It had been a long morning -- everybody was cold and
tired, and wanted to go home.  They had another week, though,
before they could finally return to the US.  Nick had felt
especially tired, and was therefore being uncharacteristically
quiet -- he hadn't had the energy to act his part, so rather then
disappoint them all, he was pretending to sleep.

	He had actually almost been asleep when he heard the engine
noises change, and a few moments later, felt the bus draw to a
stop.  Wondering what was going on -- they usually drove
non-stop, so as to get to the venue as early as possible -- he
lifted his head to ask, but AJ beat him to it.

	"Hey Kev -- what's up?  Why we stoppin'?"

	Kevin, seemingly as much in the dark as everyone else, had
shrugged, then gotten up and walked to the front of the bus.
After a short discussion with James, the charge'd'affairs du
semaine, as he called himself, Kevin had returned.

	"C'mon guys -- we're going to stop for lunch, grab some real
food, 'get off the bus' -- James thinks it will help us feel less
tired to have a warm meal."

	They had all groaned a little -- they had spent the whole
morning trying to create warm spots, but eventually they all were
bundled up and out the bus door.

	The driver had stopped in a little village somewhere -- in
memory it was very picturesque, but at that time none of them
were feeling much like gawking.  There was an inn of some sorts
nearby, which was very inviting -- due to the heavy clouds, the
lights were on, and it looked warm.  They all made a bee-line
towards it, with James leading the way.  Walking into the inn had
been amazing.  Suddenly, everyone was warm.  And with the sudden
change in temperature, everyone became awake -- an odd effect, as
usually warmth made people relax and grow tired, but after the
numbing cold which the bus' heaters had done nothing to affect,
the bright warmth of the inn was like a magic elixir.  Soon,
everybody was joking around, feeling restored.  Nick found it
possible -- even easy -- to become "Nick".

	And then, in the middle of a particularly ribald joke, AJ had
stopped short.  Everybody turned to follow his gaze, and then
everybody else had seemed frozen in place.  It seemed as though
they were all staring at the waitress who was walking towards
their table.  Nick had looked around confused -- he wasn't sure
whether they were all playing a joke on him, or what was
happening.

	She reached their table, and said something.  Of course, as
they were in Germany, she spoke in German.  Nobody answered --
which made Nick even more confused.  James spoke German fairly
well -- why wasn't he answering?  She tried again, once more
receiving no response.  Nick started to worry -- was something
wrong?

	"Ummm..... do you speak English?" he asked.

	"A bit.  Your friends -- they are 'OK'?" she answered, with a
heavy accent.

	"I don't know.  James?  Brian?  Kevin?"

	It seemed as though saying their names was sufficient to
bring them back to reality.  Howie, AJ, and Brian, realizing that
they had been staring, blushed bright red.  Kevin seemed a bit
embarrassed, but actually seemed a bit more preoccupied.  James,
also bright red, as if to make up for his earlier silence,
launched into what would have been a long complicated speech in
German about their order -- and then had to stop, when he
realized that he didn't know what anybody wanted to eat.
Flustered, it took him a moment to collect his wits, then after a
brief conversation with the waitress, he let them know what was
available.

	"I'll have the soup," said Nick, still feeling the cold a
bit.

	AJ opened his mouth as though to speak, when Kevin
interrupted.  "Everybody will have the soup with bread." James
started to translate, but she surprised him by saying "Soup wit
bread for six" and walking away rapidly.

	And that was when it had happened.  Brian had turned to Nick,
and said "Isn't she hot?"

	Just three words, and they had basically turned his world
upside down.  Because now he knew what had caused them all -- all
of them! -- to stop.  Covering quickly, he had responded as
needed -- but it took all of his skill, all of his control, to
remain "Nick".  Inside, he was shaking with worry.  He hadn't
known!  He was fifteen -- puberty was hard upon him, surely he
should have felt attracted to her...  But he hadn't even given
her a second thought -- and she had caused everybody -- even
Kevin -- to just stop...

	He didn't remember much more of the lunch -- except that once
Kevin had asked him what was wrong, which caused him to step up
"Nick" -- apparently he wasn't being energetic enough.  But that
night he had gotten very little sleep.

	Actually, he remembered, that wasn't the worst part.  The
worst had happened a few days later -- they were almost done,
just one last concert.  They were giving autographs before the
concert, as they would have to leave immediately after.  Through
a gap in the crowd, Nick had caught a brief glimpse of a face --
and it was as though time had slowed down.  The next thing he
knew, Brian was tapping him discretely on the shoulder -- and he
realized that there were a number of people waiting for his
autograph.  Slightly shaken, he started signing again.  But he
couldn't forget the face.  For two reasons: the first, it had
been absolutely beautiful.  He now understood what had happened
back at the inn.  But the second reason was what was running
through his mind the most: the face had been male.  Undeniably
male.  As in, belonging to a guy.  It hadn't helped matters when,
later, as they were preparing for the concert, Brian had asked
him "So what did she look like?"

	"Who?" Nick had replied, completely in the dark.

	"The girl who caught your attention earlier -- you know, when
you completely zoned out.  She must have been something -- even
that waitress didn't turn your head."

	Nick stared at Brian for a moment, completely scared.  Then,
luckily, "Nick" had stepped in.  At other times before, it had
seemed as though he was more than just playing a part -- and this
time, Nick had been more than happy to let his other self take
over.  He had just blanked out, and although his performance at
the concert that evening was lacking any real emotion (it's hard
to be emotional when you aren't really there, and your body is
just going through moves), he was able to explain it away by
being tired.

	Thinking back, he realized that was probably the beginning of
the end.  Previous to that, "Nick" had been a role played by
Nick.  But it hadn't taken much effort -- in some ways, it had
been a challenge, and a great secret, but mostly it was more like
a simple game.  After that, though, it had never been the same.
More and more, Nick just stepped aside, rather than playing
"Nick".  And more and more, "Nick" just took control: keeping
Nick safe, not allowing anyone to see him.  "Nick" became a
defense, and though very few people noticed the difference --
none of the rest of the boys had known him before "Nick" had
appeared, so they couldn't compare -- he sometimes caught his
mother looking at him sadly.  And as "Nick" grew more and more
out of control, Nick grew to hate him more and more.  He had used
to enjoy being "Nick", who could get away with anything.  But
now, he just wanted to get away from "Nick".

	The next door was Howie's.  Although Nick (or rather, "Nick")
and Brian had hit it off from the beginning, Howie and Nick had
always been somewhat distant.  Howie had his interests, and they
didn't really overlap with "Nick"'s, so while they got along,
they weren't really close.  The only times that they had ever
really interacted outside the group dynamic was when Howie,
taking his role as the "peacemaker" seriously (Howie was serious
about everything he did), would step between Kevin and Nick.

	It was Howie, actually, that had finally led Nick to label
himself as gay.  After returning from Germany, they had had a few
months break -- well, from touring, at any rate.  They were kept
constantly busy learning new music, new routines, and planning
the next tour, as well as working on a CD release.  And on top of
all this, Nick couldn't sleep.  Every time he would close his
eyes, that face, undeniably male, would appear before his eyes.
He found himself looking at other men -- not his bandmates, they
were too close, but on the street, or on TV.  He had discovered
masturbation earlier, but now had to give it up, as the images
that popped into his head made him intensely uncomfortable.  He
often wondered what was going on -- he had found a book which
said that people often went through phases during their
maturation, but this was absurd.  But he wasn't gay -- that he
knew.  He didn't want to be gay, he couldn't be gay.

	So, instead of resting at night, he lay awake staring up at
the ceiling (or where the ceiling would be, if he could see it).
He tossed and turned.  The bags under his eyes got bigger and
bigger, his coordination went off, and he found himself getting
upset far more easily than usual.  The latter didn't show,
luckily -- "Nick" saw to that -- otherwise he knew that the rest
of the guys would have been on his back much sooner.  As it was,
nearly three months passed before it happened.

	They were practicing a complex routine, though for which song
Nick couldn't remember for the life of him (an ironic grin
surfaced at that thought).  They had yet to make it completely
through the routine -- because of Nick.  It wasn't that he
couldn't do any of the required steps -- he never made the same
mistake twice -- but he would make a mistake somewhere that the
previous time had been perfect.  Of course, rather than admit
that he was tired, "Nick" insisted on blaming something --
anything -- else.  The floor was uneven, there had been a gust of
wind, Brian was too close, a noise had startled him, he was
unable to concentrate with everybody watching him -- various
excuses.  Kevin was becoming angrier and angrier.  By the tenth
time they had tried to go through the routine, Kevin's face was
almost fire-brick red.  So when Nick fell over while walking
across the "stage", and then tried to claim that he had tripped,
Kevin had had too much.

	"Nickolas Ge-" Kevin started yelling at the top of his voice.
 He broke off in the middle though, as Howie reached over and put
his hand on Kevin's mouth.  With a sigh, Howie had walked over to
Nick, picked him up, and led him away from the rest.  Once they
were out of sight of the others, Howie slumped down against the
wall, and, as was his usual tactic to keep things from getting
too tense, said "Well, on the bright side, I did need to take a
break."

	Nick had started to say something, but Howie cut him off.

	"Don't say anything.  I'm not much happier than Kevin -- I
just don't see what blowing my top will accomplish.  Nick -- you
look like hell.  The reason you aren't able to perform today has
nothing to do with the stage, Brian, the wind, or nervousness.
You need to stop blaming others for your problems.  It's obvious
to anyone who looks at you that you need sleep.  I don't care
whether it's because you got a new game for your Nintendo, or if
you were out partying on the town last night.  But you need to
grow up, take responsibility, and make sure you get enough
sleep."

	"I can't," Nick had replied, quietly.

	"If you were to go to bed before 3am, you might find it
helps," Howie had responded somewhat sarcastically.

	This had been too much.  Nick had found himself screaming at
Howie "I went to bed at 9 last night," after which he lost
coherence and just started raving, until he fell down on the
ground crying.  Howie had just sat there, stunned, for the two or
three minutes it took for Nick to get to the point where he was
approachable.  After that, he quietly said "Is there something
you need to talk to someone about?  Sometimes it can help even
just to tell someone else that you have a problem -- not even
what it is...." and had faded off into silence.

	After he had managed to compose himself, Nick had looked up.

	"Thanks for the offer, Howie, but it's just something that
has been bothering me for a while now, and I don't know what to
think about it."

	Howie had looked disappointed for a moment, then sighed and
said, "OK, if that's the way you feel.  But if you ever want to
talk about it, I'd be willing to listen."

	"Thanks, but I'll be alright.... I'll join you guys in a
few..."

	Howie had shaken his head.  "No, I think that we all need to
take a break.  Go on home.  We'll return tomorrow -- I can get
the rest to agree to that.  But if you don't want to talk, can I
at least offer a word of advice?"  Nick had silently nodded.  "If
you're having problems sleeping, at least in my experience, it's
because you feel about something one way, but you don't want to.
Or you think something should be one way, and it isn't.  And the
only way you're going to solve that is if you tell the truth to
yourself.  Even if you can't express yourself in the real world,
you have to be frank with yourself about how you feel.
Otherwise, 'that way lies madness', to quote someone whose name
escapes me at the moment.  Anyways, I'll go let the others know
what we're doing.  Try to get some sleep tonight -- and one last
thing: although it isn't a good long term solution, and you
didn't hear this from me, if you really can't get to sleep, there
are pills that can help...."  He had then taken off, back to
Brian, AJ, and Kevin.  Nick had heard some vaguely muffled
shouting, but nobody came to find him, and he had sat there
thinking.

	To this day, Nick didn't know what Howie thought Nick's
problems were.  But his words had struck a chord.  Actually, both
of his suggestions had resonated.

	First -- to be true to oneself.  Because, and the ease with
which he could admit this only increased his confidence in its
basic truth, it was obvious on the slightest reflection that Nick
_was_ gay, regardless of what he wanted.  In the detached state
which follows closely on strong emotional outbursts, it was
possible to be impartial about the result -- given: you find
yourself attracted to members of the same sex, while ignoring
completely those of the opposite; result (by definition): you are
gay.

	Feeling like a tremendous weight had left his chest, Nick had
decided to put off any further thought about the matter until
some later time.  He had left the building and headed home --
stopping on the way at a nearby pharmacy to pick up the pills
that Howie had mentioned.  Once at home he took some of the
pills, fell into bed, and for the first time in months, went to
sleep.

	Of course, once the detached state was gone, he had once
again started worrying.  However, it was too late -- the damage
was done.  Having once admitted to himself that he was gay, he
couldn't unadmit it.  And, as was obvious from everyone around
him, being gay wasn't right.  This had been the start of his
realization that he wasn't really as good as the rest -- he was a
faker who couldn't control his emotional state, who didn't let
even his best friends ever see the "real" Nick, whose voice had a
peculiar twang to it, who was gay.  He came to realize that he
was far luckier than he deserved -- to be around such a great
group of people.  He also realized that he couldn't live up to
what they needed him to be, because he wasn't what they thought
he was.  He also found that he now needed the pills to get to
sleep (it was probably psychological, he admitted to himself, but
all the same...).  Otherwise he would worry too much.  But, just
take two pills (then three, then four, as time went on), and he
was able to get the rest he needed to keep himself under control.

	Which he needed, because he found that unless he kept himself
tightly under control, his eyes wandered to men at the worst
times in the worst places: during concerts.

	His memories were interrupted by giggles.  He looked up to
find himself in front of the next door.  AJ's.  He could hear
feminine giggles coming from behind it, and the sounds of
activity.  AJ was closest in age to Nick, but that was about the
only connection that Nick felt with him.  AJ was .... different.
His attitudes, his "culture", his, frankly, ability to have sex.
For all that Nick was accorded the status of "idol", AJ was the
one who had all the fun.  Not that Nick ever really tried.  He
had once or twice (rather "Nick" had), but was too distanced, too
... uninterested.

	"Yo -- is someone out there?" came AJ's voice.  Nick froze.
He had hoped that everybody would be asleep at this point, and
barring that, that they wouldn't hear him walking quietly and
slowly outside their doors.  But apparently he had somehow made a
noise.

	"Ahhh, it was probably just the hotel staff," said the girl,
"c'mon back here...."  Nick listened carefully, but soon heard
the sounds from the room resume.  He let out his breath slowly.
He would have to be extra careful on the way back to his room, so
as not to alert AJ.  Discovery would interrupt his plans, and as
it was AJ who had, indirectly, given him The Idea, it would be
far too ironic if it were to be AJ who stopped him.

	Of course, it wasn't really AJ's idea, but in a way, it had
been AJ who had first put it into his head.  He had spent two
years attempting to live with the fact that he was gay.  Each
day, it got harder, but he could see no solution.  At least no
solution that didn't really hurt someone besides himself -- he
couldn't break his contract without hurting the guys and his
family.  He withdrew, letting "Nick" handle more and more of the
interactions with the rest of the world, letting the pills handle
his interactions with his bed.

	Then, one day, as they were sitting around discussing what
"artistic direction" they wanted to go in, an answer had
presented itself.

	The discussion had turned into an argument between AJ, who
wanted to incorporate a more hip-hop/r&b feel into their music,
and Kevin, who felt that a smoother, more classic 'oldies' feel
was the way to go.  Eventually, Kevin and Brian had ganged up on
AJ.

	"Okay, you say that a hip-hop feel is what we need, but how
do you know?  You don't have any clue about what I'm talking
about when I say 'classical' anyways."

	"Yeah AJ -- what do you know about oldies and classics?
Huh?"

	Seeing an opportunity, "Nick" had gotten involved.
Eventually, AJ had gotten tired.  Standing up suddenly,
overturning his chair in the process, he had taken a step away
from the table.  He had turned around, and when his face
reappeared, it was someone else's.  Not literally -- but instead
of "AJ", it had been an intelligent, worried look.  Angsty, and
self-hating.  Worried, but not in the sense of distraught, rather
in the sense that he couldn't let go of an idea.  And then he had
started speaking:

   "To be, or not to be: that is the question:
	Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
	The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
	Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
	And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
	No more; and by a sleep to say we end
	The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
	That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
	Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
	To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
	For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
	When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
	Must give us pause: there's the respect
	That makes calamity of so long life;
	For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
	The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
	The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
	The insolence of office and the spurns
	That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
	When he himself might his quietus make
	With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
	To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
	But that the dread of something after death,
	The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
	No traveller returns, puzzles the will
	And makes us rather bear those ills we have
	Than fly to others that we know not of?
	Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
	And thus the native hue of resolution
	Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
	And enterprises of great pith and moment
	With this regard their currents turn awry,
	And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
	The fair Ophelia!"
(<http://tech-two.mit.edu/Shakespeare/Tragedy/hamlet/hamlet.all.html>)

	It had been amazing.  As a part of the producers' deal with
his parents, he had been required to take classes from a tutor.
Hamlet had been on the reading list, but frankly, Nick hadn't
understood most of it.  It didn't help matters that that
particular tutor had been more interested in making out with his
girlfriend, who was a part of the crew.  But, when AJ spoke, it
all was clear.  The artificial feeling caused by the line breaks
in the printed version were all gone; instead, this was an
articulate speech, discussing intelligently why he (Hamlet)
couldn't kill himself.

	And, of course, it had planted The Idea in his head.  It had
been that night that he had written the first note.  It had taken
him over an hour, it hadn't felt right, and he had never bothered
to complete it.  Two days later, he had burned it.  But over the
years, he had written several notes.  Each time, it had taken
effort, and by the end of the process, he didn't feel like it
anymore.  Then, The Idea would fade to the back of his mind for a
while, only starting to reappear when someone would make a
comment that struck home.  For a while it would build up, then he
would sit down, write a note, struggle over it, and in the
process get it out of his system.  However, each time it got
easier and easier, and each time The Idea returned faster and
faster.

	Two days ago, it had finally come to a head.  It had been
Kevin, whose door he now approached, who had, unknowingly,
finally broke the camel's back.

	Nick, for reasons he did not understand, looked up to Kevin
more than anyone else in his life.  It wasn't that he was in love
with Kevin -- it was that Kevin was _the_ central authority
figure in Nick's life.  Every compliment Kevin had ever given him
was etched in his memory: from a simple thumbs up for mastering a
complex harmony during their first year to the pat on the back
three months ago for taking the time to talk with an especially
shy fan.  Kevin's approval made him feel valid, worthwhile, real.
 Likewise, the occasions that Kevin expressed displeasure made
Nick depressed for days -- even so much as a slight frown was
enough to make Nick withdraw even more.  Of course, "Nick" kept
anyone from seeing Nick's pain -- and even went out of the way to
draw Kevin's ire.

	Two days ago, Kevin had taken him aside and asked to talk
with him in private.  He had seemed slightly nervous.

	"Nick, I've been trying to stay out of your private life
lately -- you are, as you keep reminding us, an adult, and I'm
trying not to 'parent' you.  But, I've been asked by our
management to discuss something with you, so I have no choice.
Ummm.... well, I don't really know how to say this.....  Look.
You're eighteen now.  You haven't had a steady girlfriend for a
while, and management is worried that you will come off as gay.
Apparently," and here Kevin had grimaced wryly, "as the
'heartthrob' of the group, they want you to step up your appeal
to our female fans.  And going for too long without a girlfriend
seems to indicate that you aren't interested.  So, I've been
asked by the suits to tell you that you need to get a girlfriend.
 I somewhat agree with them on this, although for different
reasons: I think that an SO may calm you down.  What I don't
agree with is that they have a.... well, a list, of people they
want you to consider meeting and perhaps going out with.
Primarily teen actresses and other singers.  I'm don't think that
this is a good idea, but they insisted that you take a look.
Anyways, they wanted you to start making a move in this direction
within the next month..."

	Nick had stood there dazed.

	"Look, I know this sucks.  But, apparently, 'we can't let the
rumors of Nick being gay take root'.  This from the marketing
department."

	Nick had stood there dazed.  Waiting for "Nick" to take over,
but knowing deep down that he wouldn't appear this time.

	"Nick, I know that you aren't happy with this -- I'm sure
you'd much rather spend all your time going out to clubs and
living it up, but you might benefit from a break -- you can still
go out if you're attached, you just go a bit more low-key.  Look
-- you don't need to get back to me about it for a while.  Take a
week or so and look over the list -- or if you find someone you
want to go out with, scrap the list and just go for it.  Here's
what they gave me."  Kevin thrust a sheet of paper at Nick and
went back to join the others.  Nick had automatically folded it
and put it into his pocket.

	Then had stood there dazed.  All that Nick heard were the
words "they want you to find a girlfriend... I agree with them...
we can't let any rumors of you being gay..." over and over again
in his head.  Whirling around like leaves on a windy autumn day.
"Can't be gay.... I agree.... girlfriend....."

	He couldn't.  As much as he wanted to please them, he
couldn't.  He couldn't be what they needed him to be -- he wasn't
good enough.  He wouldn't be able to act it out for long enough.
It wouldn't be fair to the girl.  And "Nick" wouldn't be able to
do it -- "Nick" wasn't able to be held down.  It had come to the
point where they finally needed him to be the person they thought
he was, and he couldn't.

	He didn't remember the rest of that day.  Just "Can't be
gay..." echoing through his head.  He hadn't even thought of
writing a note -- he knew it would come easily.  He was beyond
that point.  That night, and the next night, they had been in the
bus, so he wasn't able to do anything.  But tonight.... tonight
they were in a hotel.  Each in a separate room.  And the note had
been written in under five minutes, with no erasures or rewrites.
 And now, he was here.  Outside Kevin's door.

	He looked down at the note once more -- it was so perfect, so
right:

	Guys--
		I'm sorry.  I just couldn't do this anymore.  I'm not who
		you think I am.  I can't be what you need me to be, much
		less the person who you deserve.  There are many better,
		more worthy, more talented people out there, who will
		easily fill my place.  I'm sorry that I couldn't do it...

												Nick

	He knelt down, and shoved it under Kevin's door.  Hard -- he
wanted to make sure that it was all the way under.  Stranger
things had been known to happen than to have notes stuck under
their doors disappear.

	As soon as the note left his sight, he felt a sudden release
-- as though a large weight had been taken off his shoulders.
For a moment, he just stayed there, crouching by Kevin's door,
hand on the doorjamb, feeling relaxed.  In just a few moments, he
would be back in his room, and then..... an end.

*******************************

Author's notes:

I'm putting these notes here, rather than in the beginning,
because this was the original end of the story.

The idea for this story came to me last year, when I was going
through a trying time.  However, I found myself unable to write
it (I tried, albeit briefly) until recently.  After a visit with
relatives where not only my parents, but also my grandparents
were continually asking me about girlfriends, and trying to get
me to go out with a girl (I haven't come out to them yet), I came
back to my room and in about two hours wrote the story.  I posted
it that night, with minimal editing (ie, I ran it through a spell
checker).  The formatting got messed up, so I sent a fixed
version the next night, but didn't actually re-read it for a few
days.  When I did go back and read it, I was... dismayed.  There
was much that I had thought I mentioned which never showed up.
There were grammatical errors, as well as repetitious sentence
structure, run-ons -- and, as one of the few respondents noted,
excessive use of the em-dash.  (If anyone else has other comments
on the difference between the two versions, I would be more than
happy to receive advise -- I'm new to fiction writing, and I'm
not sure how well I do... email me at rem14@cornell.edu --
Thanks!)

So, this is a complete rewrite, from scratch (the only text I
copied over was the Shakespeare).  I've redone many of the
incidents, changed the order of the rooms, and generally made it
better.

Every single one of the (three) responses I received asked for me
to continue the story.  I tried -- however, much stood in the
way.  For one, the conceit (if you will) is over.  The four doors
have been traversed.  Any continuation is perforce not "Four
Doors".  Also, part of the original intention of the story was to
present an occurrence that takes place in a very short time (the
time to walk past four doors in a hallway) -- although the story
spans about five years, it occurs in about two minutes.  In order
to wrap it up completely, the story would balloon by at least an
order of magnitude timewise, which felt... wrong to me.  Just for
the heck of it, I did try -- but found myself more and more
unhappy with the result.  So, I have provided, for those of you
who really want it, a two paragraph (approx) "happy" ending (I
like happy endings, darn it).  See below.  It may leave as many
threads hanging as the above ending, but at least there is
hope...

One last brief note: the ending below is _not_ canonical.  Any
ending to this story that *you* think is correct is correct.

*******************************
(Ending episode:)

	After resting for moment, relaxing into the sudden feeling of
peace that had descended on him, Nick started to stand up -- and
froze.  Instead of looking at a solid door, his eyes were looking
at a red bathrobe, with blue pyjama bottoms sticking out below.
Kevin's red bathrobe with Kevin's blue pyjama bottoms sticking
out below.

	Nick slowly stood up.  Kevin was standing in the doorway,
clad in his blue pyjamas and red bathrobe.  His face was a bit
bleary, but his eyes were still alert.  His hair was mussed, but
only a bit.  But all that Nick could see was that in one of his
hands was the note.

	"I think, Nick, that we need to talk."