Chapter Three

After a complete blood work up, a spinal tap, chest x-rays and a CT scan of the brain, the doctors were still at a loss to explain Yoochuh’s fever.  Aside from waiting twenty-four to forty-eight hours for blood, sputum and throat cultures, he would stay in ICU wrapped in cooling blankets. It seemed as if he had been put under a sleeping spell.  Seeing how this was the real world and not some fairy tale.  All involved were pretty sure no princess’ kiss would revive him – although several females offered to try.

Back at the house the rest of Tohoshinki waited impatiently.  Yunho became the resident neat freak with Changmin as his grime-fighting side kick.  Together they expertly located the hidden microphones and cameras that had been scattered throughout the domicile.  Unfortunately they could not do anything without exposing themselves.

Meanwhile Junsu and Jaejoong put their heads together to try to figure where and when Yoochun could have been exposed to whatever was ailing him. Since learning that the house was being spied on from the inside, Jaejoong was even more concerned about the writing Yoochun had been doing the first night in residence. He grabbed the journal off the desk, scrutinizing it carefully.

“What’s that?”  Junsu stood at his side looking at the book with the same curiosity.

“Chun’s writings.” Jae took it over to his bed and sat down, contemplating it further.

“Do you think something in there might tell us what’s happening to him?”

Jae smirked.  It was as good of an excuse as any to invade Yoochun’s privacy.  Anxiously he opened the cover and quickly scanned through the pages, focusing more closely on the last entries.

“Anything?”  Junsu began to fidget.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Jaejoong closed the book ceremoniously, wondering where to hide it, lest prying eyes decided to seek answers there as well.

It was late evening when a car pulled up.  Changmin stepped to the window pulling aside the curtain to see who was approaching.

“It’s manager hyungnim,” he dropped the fabric back into place.

“Let me do the talking,” Yunho advised as the front door opened.

The manager walked over to the leader and handed him a piece of paper.  Yunho scanned it quickly, dismissing it in favor for news on Yoochun.

Four sets of expectant eyes bore into the manager’s causing him to squirm.  “No change from this morning,” he said quickly changing the subject.  “Tomorrow starts vocal rehearsals in the morning followed by choreography in the afternoon.”

That news didn’t sit well with any of the members.

At the hospital Yoochun’s fever hovered at 103.5⁰F.  At least the intermittent spiking to 105⁰ had subsided. A nurse had been instructed to give him an alcohol based sponge bath before changing the bedding and the patient. It was during this procedure that a few facts came to light.  The first was that the skin covered by the tattoo adorning Yoochun’s left chest was inflamed and hot to the touch.   Upon further inspection the area to the left of the design appeared to be blackening – a sure sign of a necrotic skin condition. This seemed to be the breakthrough the doctors needed to attempt to cure the patient.

A dermatologist was summoned to assess the nature of the supposed infection. That required several biopsies including one of the dermis containing the ink, a sample of the diseased area and a patch of healthy tissue.  At least this doctor had a clue as to what he was doing and chose not to destroy the continuity of the tattoo in case it was not the root cause of the problem.  Worst case scenario it was some type of flesh eating disease that would require extensive tissue remove – including the tattoo – before the pectoral muscle and lymph nodes were affected.

An unusual sensation tugged at the visual cortex of Yoochun’s brain bringing it to a functioning state. He found himself sitting on an outcropping of lava rock in the middle of what looked like an ash field.  The landscape was composed of various shades of grey – light and dark, rough and soft in texture.  He sat in the middle of a veritable wasteland wearing black leather pants and a deep v-neck white t-shirt with a grey scarf fringed in fine pale feathers.

Good thing no one’s around to take a picture of this, he chuckled to himself.

Before his thought could complete a figure materialized next to him. The Native American, dressed in buckskin, carried a walking staff with an indistinguishable totem at its apex.

“Where did you come from?” Chun looked around curiously.

“I was always here,” the man spoke humbly.

“Who are you?”

“Bodaway.”

It was then that Yoochun realized more was going on in the scene.  Small wisps of steam or smoke escaped the ground headed for the heavens.  The more he watched them, the clearer the shapes became. They were feathery, like the down of newly born bird.  He reached out to touch one, but it merely passed through the palm of his hand and out the back on its journey upward.

“What are they?”  He kept his arms wrapped around his waist to prevent himself from reaching out again.

The Indian pointed skyward, where some of the white poofs evaporated while others congregated in an indistinct shape.

“What is it supposed to mean?”

“The future is neither certain nor uncertain.  Look to the horizon.”

Yoochun glanced to where the man was gazing.  The heat waves generated by the landscape made the white wisps appear flame-like to the point of burning up and disappearing.

“What is right before us often looks different from a distance.  What is in the distance is altered by the journey between here and then.”

Chun shielded his eyes, squinting off into the distance.  No matter how clear things seemed, the horizon presented nothing more than emptiness.  “Why does the future look bleak?”

“There are troubling times ahead.  The journey you’re about to make will be beyond what you believed possible.”

This news disturbed Yoochun greatly.

Bodaway smiled slightly.  “You are already apprehensive and the pilgrimage hasn’t yet begun.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“About making the journey?”

Chun nodded affirmatively.

“No. But you won’t be alone.  In your darkest moment a guardian will be sent to help you…”

At that moment a high-pitched squawk distracted Yoochun into looking skyward.  The wisps of feathery smoke assembled in the form a firebird that flew away.  He looked to Bodaway for confirmation of what he just witnessed, but the Indian had vanished.