This was his fault. The man inside the hospital room feeling the waves of excruciating pain were caused by him. Emotions were running through his body, making his mouth water, threating a reflux reaction. Closing his tender brown eyes drowned in his own tears, he replayed what had happened in his mind for what it felt like the millionth time that day.

"Stop! Please?!" he shouted at me. I couldn't stop now. I wanted to, but I wasn't able. His short nails were digging into my arms leaving what soon would be pain filled scars. I could not feel the pain now, but maybe later. "PLEASE?!" he begged me with red swollen eyes. I turned to look at him and attempted to pry his fingers off my arms, but to no avail. "No! I will NOT stop!" I screeched back to him, my voice booming with anger. I must have shocked him for he let go of my arm and drew his knees to his chin while holding onto anything his thin fingers could grab. My voice had cracked when I yelled at him. Was I nervous? No. I couldn't feel pain, nor could I feel another emotion besides anger. I tried to make my blurry, puffy eyes concentrate on the visions passing by us. He grabbed at me again, pleading to me, asking for me to stop and "come to my senses." I couldn't believe him. Damn spotlight. Always on him. I wish they could see him crying now. Then they would think he is a wimp. I'm not of course. Just looking at him made me gag, so when for the third time he sank his frail fingers into my hand, I hit him. I hit him so hard. His head flew back and with much force nailed the window next to him. Blood poured out of his nose and mouth, making his usually tow-headed tresses a deep rouge or brown. He glared in shock at me. I went to apologize to him what I had done. I placed my hand on his thigh. He lept in the air and screamed like a small child in fear. I am scaring him? No. I love my brother. I would never hurt him. But it was to late. He was hurt, emotionally and physically. I recoiled my hand and shouted to him "I'M SORRY! I'M SO VERY SORRY!" He met eye contact with me for a brief few seconds. I saw in him, fear, and dissapointment. Suddenly he broke contact and frantically pointed ahead of himself. "WATCH OUT!!!" It was too late. As I turned to look what was on-coming, a huge tractor trailing hit us head on. The last thing I heard was screaming and loud cracks. I woke up and realized I had been ejected from the convertible. I lay down on the pavement trying to calm myself. I had remembered that my brother was sitting next to me. Was he alright? I hope so. I glanced at the totalled vehicle across the road and noticed the entire front passenger side had been eliminated. That was the last I saw of my brother. Blackness took over and I fell into a deep comatos state.

Inside the hospital room, nurses were rushing around, poking, prodding, probing at all areas of the man on the bed. His heart rate was dropping quickly. Blood was everywhere. And coming out of every place on his body. "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP". That was it. All had ended. Dr. Marshall had informed the family they had lost their, son, brother, grandson, newphew, friend, and beautiful band member. Mrs. Hanson grabbed for her yougest daughters hand and pulled her closer, embracing her husband and other children in mournful hugs. "Mommy? Taybear d-died? He won't be back? Mommy... I want him back." Zoe wept into her mothers shirt. Jessica scowled with tears running down her face and splashing onto her chest at her brother. "how could he do something like that?" She thought. Zachary hung his head low. Tears were drowning his eyes. No one ran to him and hugged him as he was trying to cope with the realization he had murdered his own beloved brother and band mate.

Zachary waited until the family left for his brothers funeral. He knew he was silently forbidden to attend his brothers final fare-well to the world above ground. He crept up to the stairs of his home. Making his way to his parents room, he passed Taylors bedroom.

Inside, his room was perfectly clean, with his usually messy bed, neatly made and presentable. Zachary sighed a sorrowful sound and continued to his destination. He made it to the closet and stood on his tip-toes, reaching the havannah colored box his father keep hidden. Zachary set the item on his parents bed and proceeded to open it with a screwdriver he had brought with him. Fondeling the chrome utensil in his thick hands, he held it to his head and "BAM". Again, everything had ended... Atleast his pain had ended. He couldn't take living in a world where his own family looked down at him with hateful eyes and grim looks.

"You are watching Access Hollywood. Today's story is a sad story. Millions of fans have sent cards, gifts, pictures, and roses to the graves of Zachary Hanson and Taylor Hanson. We have for you a special interview with Isaac Hanson. He is going to talk about how his family is dealing with the losses of their loved ones and Zachary Hanson's alcohol and drug adiction. Be sure to stay tuned... and now onto..."

Isaac Hanson stood up from the couch, not being able to bare seeing his face on the pre-taped Access Hollywood admitting to his fans, his peers, his family what was really "behind the story". Zoe sat starring at him with tears in her eyes. "Isee? Why did Zackie hurt Taylee and himself? Why did he do that, Isee? That was mean." 5 year old Zoe Hanson walked to her brother and hugged him at the legs. Isaac had no answer to the question his youngest sister asked him. Instead, he picked her up and entered the kitchen to see yet another TV set on and talking about the trama of the family. "...And then there was one..." boomed the television. "And then there was one?" He thought. "No he is wrong... they will always be with me." He placed Zoe on the floor and picked up the picture frame into his hands. Isaac saw the sweet smiling faces of his brothers looking back at him in the picture taken in 1997. "No... there will always be three..." With that, he repositioned the frame to face the entire kitchen and wiped a stray tear from his eye. "There will ALWAYS be three."

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