It was a dark day. A large shadow cast upon the city blocked out the sun, and puddles sprouted up from streets and sidewalks after the rain. Wind shoved umbrellas out of people's hands. The flag that rose high above the Barber Center flapped back and forth. Carla Hudson walked nervously up to the door, her high heels making an annoying clack as she did so. She peered through the small, rectangular window and saw a living room atmosphere. Plush couches and chairs graced a light blue carpeted floor. TVs and radios were scattered around, along with books and magazines. Carla opened the door and stepped in. Clack, clack, clack. She stopped. Looked around. Almost immediately, a white uniformed woman hurried up to her with a smile.

"May I help you?" She asked in a cheerful voice. Her brown hair, which was piled on top of her head was stiff due to hairspray, which she reeked of.

"I'm looking for Taylor Hanson." Carla looked down at the piece of paper she was gripping tightly. "Jordan Taylor Hanson. He's here, isn't he? I'm Carla Hudson. The article, for-"

"Yes. We've been expecting you. Come with me." The woman turned to the left, and began walking down a long hallway. Her tennis shoes made a squeak. Squeak. Clack, clack. Squeak. "His room is right there." The woman stopped suddenly, and pointed to a large room off to the right. Carla looked at the door. It read, "121".

"Thank you," Carla said. The woman gave her a curt nod.

"He wouldn't harm anybody. He hasn't in a while. In the case of an emergency, press the blue button on the wall, near the light switch. There's a chair there for you to sit. Keep your distance from him," The woman advised. Carla opened her mouth to say something, but instead opened the door, and walked in, not bothering to close it. The woman closed it shut, and Carla heard the squeak of her tennis shoes down the hall. A startled Taylor looked up. He was thin, and had kept his trademark long blond hair. His eyes bore deep into hers, and his face was calm. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a blue Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt. Carla nervously glanced around the room. The same light blue carpeting, the same plush chair near the light switch. A bed, a TV, a bookcase. A closet. Everything was neatly arranged. Taylor leapt from the bed with speed and bounced -- literally bounced over to Carla. He kept moving his feet when he had stopped, and stared at her. She took a step back. He turned to his right and stared into space, then smiled goofily, and pointed distantly to Carla.

"It's Carla!" He announced, and then nodded his head. "Yes." He then turned back to face her.

"Sit down. Make yourself at home," He said casually. And he's at the Barber Center? He seems...slightly normal. Carla sat down in the chair. She pulled out her small tape recorder.

"Is it okay if I record this conversation, Taylor?" She asked him. He was sitting in what seemed to be a yoga position, his back turned to her. "Taylor?" She repeated. He finally turned around, and folded his hands in his lap, smiling cheerfully.

"Yes."

"Okay. Taylor, do you know why you were put here?" Carla asked. His expression didn't change, until he opened his mouth. Then his features sagged, and he talked in monotone.

"They were going to kill me. Didn't like me anymore. What did I tell them? 'Let's do the album, come on, guys.' Didn't listen," Taylor said. He then made a strange squeal, and brought his hands to his eyes, covering them. "I can't see. I can't see. I can't see." He began to breathe heavily. Carla took a breath, and began to speak, but Taylor continued. "They blindfolded me. What did I tell them? 'Stop it, guys. Come on. It's time to go work on the album.' They laughed. Chuckles. Chuckles. Bad," Taylor rasped.

"They?" Carla asked. Taylor began to spin around in circles on his bed. He laughed a childish laugh, and ignored her, shaking his head frantically and laughing again. He finally stopped, his face pink, and looked at her.

"Isaac. And Zac." Taylor settled down. Carla shook her head slightly. He went from seemingly normal to out of it in a matter of seconds. "It was a mess. Big mess. They grabbed me. Took me here. What did I tell them? 'It was a gun. Not a knife.' They didn't believe me! I don't use knives. Carla, come here." His words were nonsense, but Carla knew the background story. In broad daylight, Taylor had shot Isaac and Zac. They weren't killed, and were living in Tulsa still today. But in Taylor's mind, they were dead. Carla didn't move.

"Carla, come here," He repeated. He banged on his bed with both fists. She remembered what the white uniformed woman had told her. Keep your distance from him. She hesitantly stood up and made her way over to Taylor. Clack, clack, clack. She sat down on his bed. He smiled, strangely, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Taylor," She said, wanting to continue the interview. Taylor hastily grabbed a picture frame. In it was a photograph of a boy about Taylor's age before he was committed, 16, with short black hair and green eyes. He was thin and pale, like Taylor. "What is this?" She said, the tape recorder still on. Taylor removed his hand and gripped the picture frame with both hands, and smiled down at it. His leg was shaking violently.

"This, is Brian." He didn't say anything more. Instead he dropped the picture frame to the ground and moved on to something else, much as a child would easily switch from one toy to another. Carla looked down, and watched him, eyeing her chair, considering moving back to it.

"Who is Brian?" She asked. Taylor looked up and sighed.

"My boyfriend. At least, he was, before they put me here. Damn it. They took me away from him. What did I tell them? 'You can't take me away from Brian. You can't.' They just laughed. Tightened the blindfold." Taylor stopped and again covered his eyes, screaming. "I can't see, I can't see, I can't see." He lunged at Carla, grabbing her by the collar and shaking her, covering her eyes with one of his sweaty hands. Carla screamed, and reached her hand up to press the blue button on the wall. Nothing happened, but almost immediately, two people rushed into the room. One was the white uniformed woman, and another one was a large man in blue slacks and a white shirt.

"Taylor!" The woman shrieked. The large man pulled Taylor away from Carla. He squirmed wildly in the man's arms, kicking and screaming, his hand still outstretched, as if he was still covering someone's eyes. "What were you doing on his bed?" The woman cried out. She was having a fit. Without a word, Carla grabbed her tape recorder which had fallen out of her hand when Taylor attacked her, and ran out of the Barber Center. Rushing to her car, she drove home as fast as she possibly could.

A few days later...

The phone rang at Carla Hudson's home. Her dog began barking, and her husband removed his leg from over hers to blindly answer it.

"Hello?" He said groggily. He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty in the morning. Who could be calling at this hour?

"Hello," It was a woman's voice. "Is Carla Hudson there?"

"Yes, just a second," He said. He set the phone down and nudged Carla. "Honey, you have a phone call." He spoke gently, but it was enough to wake her. She arose into a sitting position and took the phone.

Carla: Hello?
Caller: Carla? This is Vicki Marks, from the Barber Center. I directed you to Mr. Hanson's room.
Carla: Oh, hello. Look, I'm sorry about sitting on his bed. He called me over-
Vicki: I understand. He seems gentle, doesn't he? It's just that he's been through so much.
Carla: While I'm on the phone with you, could you possibly clear the story up for me? I didn't really understand Taylor.
Vicki: Sure.
Carla: Do you mind if I record this conversation?
Vicki: No, not at all.
Carla: Thank you.
Vicki: You're welcome. Well, they were recording their new album in the recording studio in their basement, and Isaac and Zac wanted to take a break. As the story goes, Zac spotted a blindfold in the corner of the room. He blindfolded Taylor, and he and Isaac tickled him and teased him. Taylor began screaming that he couldn't see, and he ran around the room, knocking things over and pulling at his hair. Isaac and Zac got scared, and ran out of the room. He finally calmed down and managed to get the blindfold off himself, but later that day, he shot them both. In the shoulder. The exact same place for both of them. He was sent to the Barber Center, where he believed that his brothers were dead. He can act "normal" one minute, and quite different the next. Carla, he is quite disturbed. After you left, he was calling for you. Then he began to cry. He hasn't said much else since then.
Carla: He mentioned a boyfriend...
Vicki: Taylor was friends with Brian during the Middle Of Nowhere time period. There were several rumors that there was some kind of a love connection between them. It was quickly dismissed. People thought, Taylor? A homosexual? It just couldn't be. The rumor was obviously true. Taylor mentions him sometimes. He's so hard to understand.
Carla: Oh. I see. Is that all?
Vicki: Basically. Would you like to visit him again? It would be supervised to prevent further attacks...
Carla: I'll have to see about that. I have a busy schedule.
Vicki: Yes. Well...
Carla: How old is he again?
Vicki: 23.
Carla: Mmm. Thank you, Ms. Marks, for this information. Vicki: You're welcome. If you need anything else, or want to see Taylor, just give us a call.
Carla: Will do. Thank you again.
She hung up the phone. That explained a lot. As she looked beside her, she realized that her husband had drifted back to sleep. As she let her head touch the pillow, she could almost feel Taylor's hand pressing over her eyes, urging her back into the darkness.

I can't see, I can't see, I can't see.