Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
And now, let's continue.
"Jesus," Chris said, pulling his door open. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," I muttered, stepping back. "It's great to see you, too."
I had only glanced at myself in the mirror this morning, but I had to agree with Chris. I did look like hell, because I had barely slept last night. After the first dream, I had tried to get back to sleep, but that dream had apparently just been a warmup. I was hit with endless dreams about newspapers, scissors, and greeting cards, as well as one particularly disturbing one where a photographer kept jumping out from behind things and blinding me with a flashbulb. As creepy as those dreams were, though, they were nothing compared to the sexual ones. In one dream Josh was on his knees in front of Justin, in another it was Lance in front of me again, and my brain invented every other possible combination of the four of us as well.
"You ok?" Chris asked. "You sure you want to run today?"
"I'm fine," I lied. In actual truth, I didn't want to go running that morning, but I thought maybe it would help me focus my thoughts, or maybe clear them for a while. "Aren't you supposed to be leading a model out to a cab right now?"
Chris smiled.
"I took a night off," he said, laughing. "Joey and I met some nice girls, so I let him take them both home."
I gaped at him, and he began to laugh.
"God you're gullible!" he said. "Ready?"
"Sure," I said.
We ran in silence for a while, watching the neighborhood wake up. I noticed bitterly that it looked like everyone else had gotten a full night's sleep, and Chris kept giving me these weird sidelong glances when he should have been looking forward. He almost ran into about four light poles before he brought himself to speak.
"So, how is JC doing with his family?" Chris asked.
"Good," I answered.
"Everything's going well, then?" Chris asked.
"Yeah," I answered again. I caught him glaring at me, and I realized I wasn't being especially verbal. "Sorry. Josh is still at Heather's right now. They had a long talk yesterday, and I guess she's ok with everything."
"That's good," he said, smiling. "I'm glad. Did you talk to her?"
"To Heather?" I asked. "No, I haven't talked to any of Josh's family. He waited until she was in bed to call, because they were up late. He said she had questions about me, but I guess he answered them."
"She's a good kid," Chris said. "All three of them are. His parents did a good job on them."
"Chris, do you know Josh's family pretty well?" I asked. It sounded like he did.
"More or less," he said. "You still worried about him telling them?"
"A little," I said. "I don't want him to get hurt, especially not by people he loves."
"What a coincidence," Chris said, giving me one of those sidelong glances again. "Because I don't want him hurt by someone he loves, either."
I didn't say anything. I didn't want to have this discussion, either. We ran along in silence again, the only sounds from us the thumping of our feet on the sidewalk. I prayed that the run would be over soon, before he decided to push. I began to run a little faster, but Chris was a strong enough runner to easily match my pace, keeping us in conversational distance. I wouldn't be able to put any distance between us unless I broke into a sprint, and that would be a little conspicuous. Looking around, I realized that we only had a mile left, until Chris took the turn that made our three mile run into five. He glanced at me, to see if I'd react, but I wasn't going to. If he could play this game, so could I.
We both began to run a little faster, which was rough, since we were entering the uphill portion. Straining because we were near the end, we were also running much harder than our usual pace at this part. Where we would normally be sweating some, and enjoying the exertion, today we were straining, breath hissing between gritted teeth as what seemed like gallons of water poured out of us. We were racing each other, pounding the sidewalk, but what exactly were we racing toward? I wasn't sure, but I wasn't going to let Chris win. It was a grudge match now. I don't know which one of us started it, but neither one of us was willing to lose.
When we finally reached the apartment building, both of us were ready to drop. Chris was leaning heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath, and I sank onto one of the lounge chairs, doubled over from a stitch in my side. The two of us continued to glare at each other, even though I was pretty sure I was going to either throw up all over my shoes or just pass out on the chair.
"I, need, water," Chris gasped, holding out his hand. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up off the chair. "Come on."
"I have water upstairs," I growled, as if I'd be able to climb the stairs any time in the next couple of minutes.
"The only way you're getting out of this is if you have a fucking stroke," Chris said.
I thought I could tire him out, but all I'd done was piss him off. Damn. I followed wordlessly into his apartment, and slumped against the wall by the door. Chris pulled himself a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, which I noticed was also filled with beer, and tossed me a bottle as well. I took small sips, fighting the burning in my lungs to get my breathing back under control. Chris leaned on the kitchen counter, apparently not willing to sit if I wasn't.
"Say it, Chris," I said finally, as we stared at each other. "Just say it."
"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked. He didn't sound mad, but it was hard to tell with us still panting.
"What?" I asked. That wasn't the question I was expecting.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" Chris asked again. "I can hear everything that goes on upstairs, Jack, and you know it. I listened to you walking around, pacing the bedroom, all night last night, and that time you woke up screaming, well, I heard that, too."
"I'm fine," I said again, looking away.
"You can't lie for shit, Jack," Chris said, walking over to one of the couches. He sat, and stared at me. I walked over and sat on the back of the other couch. "Look, Jack, I'm not trying to push, but it's obvious that something is bothering you. Please, man, just let it out."
I wanted to, I really did, but what could I say? I found myself wanting to protect Justin, because he was my friend even though I thought what he was doing was wrong. I wanted to protect Lance, because his secret wasn't mine to share. I didn't want to say anything to anyone else about it before I said anything to them, but I didn't really want to talk to them, either. And then there was my mysterious, almost threatening pen pal, another issue that I really didn't even want to think about getting into.
"I can't, Chris," I said finally, looking down. "I just can't get into it."
"Why the hell not?" Chris asked. He sounded exasperated. "Jack, why are you keeping so many secrets?"
"Who says I'm keeping secrets?" I asked, as if saying it might make it true.
"Jack, I'm not stupid," he said. "Remember, I spent a whole morning driving you around for something that you won't tell me about. If you don't want to answer, why don't you just say so? Lying is kind of rude."
"Look, Chris," I began, chastened. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."
"And some are!" he snapped. "You promised me you would tell JC. Did you?"
"Not exactly," I said, looking away again. Why couldn't he just yell and scream like a normal person?
"Not exactly?" Chris said. "Jack, you either told him, or you didn't. Did you tell him?"
"No, I didn't," I said quietly, unwilling to meet his eyes.
"Damn it, Jack!" Chris said, standing. He walked around the couch, back and forth, waving his hands in the air. "You promised me, Jack. You promised that you would tell JC."
"I'm going to," I said defensively. "It just wasn't the right time, and then he left."
"How convenient for you," Chris said quickly. "You fucking lied to me, Jack."
"Maybe what's going on is none of your business," I countered, tired of being yelled at. "Maybe I didn't tell you about it because it doesn't affect you."
"If it affects JC, it affects me," Chris said. "Jack, I'm trying to be your friend right now."
"Maybe I don't need a friend right now!" I blurted, thinking of Justin and Lance, and my stalker, who had to be someone I knew. "Maybe I don't even know who my friends are here."
"If you don't, I'm not going to tell you," Chris said. "Keep your damn secrets, then, if they're so fucking important to you, but I'm all done helping."
I stared at him.
"I mean it, Jack," he said. "Just go. When you remember who your friends are, and you're ready to let me help you, come back. If you're just going to keep lying, stay the fuck away from me. And remember what I told you about hurting JC."
"I will," I said harshly, standing. "Thanks for the water."
When I walked out of Chris's apartment, I wanted to cry. Either that, or punch the wall until my hands bled. Maybe I wanted to do both.
"Damn it!" I yelled, smacking the railing with my hand as I climbed the stairs. "Fucking damn it!"
I crawled into the shower, resolving once again to sort this all out.
OK, first things first, I needed to address the Justin and Lance situation. Obviously I needed to talk to Justin first, and make him understand that what he was doing was wrong. I could talk to Lance after that, but I wasn't sure what I'd say to him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen to. Facing those feelings for the first time was obviously a little rough for him, so maybe he needed a friend. Maybe he'd let me be one, but I had to approach the whole thing pretty carefully. Justin was doing enough damage without me there to do more.
Then there was the issue of my stalker. I needed to build a suspect list, quickly, and start crossing people off of it. That was the most logical way to go about it. It had to be someone I knew, and someone nearby.
I could rule out Josh, of course, and felt pretty sure that I could rule out Joey and Chris as well. They had no motive at all. Joey hadn't really been around enough, and when he had been, he'd been very nice to me, and seemed very happy for Josh. Then again, the letters hadn't started until Joey had returned from New York. Maybe I shouldn't rule Joey out after all. He could have just been nice all along to keep me from suspecting him. If I couldn't rule out Joey, I couldn't rule out Chris, either. I knew for certain that Chris had all the publications the pictures were in, because I borrowed the paper from him every day. On the other hand, all the pictures were still in the paper when Chris gave it to me, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a second copy. He had helped me track some of this down the other day, but he might have just been monitoring my investigation, and he did keep pushing me to tell Josh what was going on. Maybe he was trying to drive us to a fight.
If I couldn't rule out Joey and Chris, then I really needed to take a closer look at Justin and Lance. Justin was more than capable of manipulating others. I couldn't think of a reason why he would want to split up Josh and I, unless he thought I was bad for Josh somehow. Or maybe he just wanted to keep Josh in thrall to him. After all, if he'd known all along that Lance was looking at him and secretly wanting him, he must have known for the last year that Josh was in love with him. Sure, they hadn't acted on it, but it was the kind of thing Justin would use if he had to. Still, this thing with the cards didn't really seem like Justin's style. From what I'd seen with the way he and Britney strung each other along, the way he'd thrown himself between Josh and I, and what he was doing with Lance, Justin was a hands-on type of guy. This was almost too subtle for him, and didn't let him play off of his looks or his body.
However, it would be the perfect approach for someone less attractive, someone like Lance. Lance had some glaring psychological issues, so this kind of psycho behavior was easily imaginable as his handiwork. Even my subconscious seemed to think so, based on that creepy dream. He also had anger to spare, and had been throwing it at Josh and I since we told him about us. Maybe, seeing that the direct approach was failing, and only pushing us closer together, he had decided on a different tack, but why? Breaking us up wouldn't turn Josh straight again, but maybe Lance secretly wanted Josh for himself. After all, if I were in the band and secretly gay, I'd have a crush on the hottest member. Even if it was Lance, though, there was the issue of the very first card. It had been mailed from near my home, and Lance had been here that whole time.
It's a little known fact that you can mail an envelope, already addressed and stamped, inside another envelope to the postmaster of any city. The postmaster, finding your envelope inside, is bound by his job to take it out and mail it, and suddenly you have a postmark from anywhere, which might actually be nowhere close to where the letter actually came from. I knew that, because I'd read it in one of the many police and crime books that I read for fun, but was that the kind of esoteric knowledge that Lance would have? And if he was going to do that, why not just pick my town? That also didn't explain the handwriting. My first thought had been that the handwriting, even though it was block letters and all capitals, was familiar. I didn't know any of the guys well enough to recognize their handwriting, so it really stood to reason that the writer must be someone I knew, someone who lived close to me.
Someone like Carla? Wait, was I actually freaked out by this enough to suspect my best friend? Just because she knew about Josh and I, and lived close enough to have mailed the first one, and had handwriting that I would recognize, what was her motive? Maybe insane jealousy. After all, she hadn't been on a successful date in years. Maybe the thought of me finding someone and being happy had caused her to snap somehow. She could be right outside, watching and waiting right now. She hadn't answered her phone in days, and the number of beeps on her answering machine suggested that she was out of town, and hadn't been home to check her messages for a while. There was the letter that implied the author wasn't sure which guy I was with, but that could just have been Carla trying to throw suspicion off of herself. The security guy at the studio had said it was a guy, but Carla could throw on a hooded sweatshirt, a hat, and glasses, and pass herself off for a guy, maybe, especially if it was only for a minute or two.
I shook my head under the shower spray, wondering if spending this much time in California was making me insane. I'd have to be, to think Carla was some sort of scary stalker. It was just as likely that I was sleepwalking down the street to the post office and mailing these to myself. But if it wasn't Carla, and it wasn't one of the guys, who was it?
Who else would hate me enough to do this?
I turned off the shower, and got dressed, trying to figure out how I could apologize to Chris. Really the only way I could was to tell him what was going on, and why I hadn't told Josh, but I didn't want to. I wanted to handle this whole stalker thing myself. Someone was fucking with me, not Josh or the band, me personally, and I wanted to take care of it myself. Maybe it wasn't the best reason to keep things from my friends, but it was my secret to keep, damn it. And the thing with Lance just wasn't my secret to tell. Chris might make it fairly public who he was playing around with, but I had to respect Lance's right not to do the same.
I decided that I'd start solving my problems immediately, and went to Justin's door. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but I thought maybe the words would just come, and I'd get by ok. I knocked for about a minute, but he didn't answer the door, so I figured he wasn't home. I looked over toward Lance's door, wondering if I should look for him there, but suddenly felt sick at the thought, and decided to go down to the archway to pick up the mail. Maybe Josh had gotten a magazine or something that would take my mind off what was going on around here.
As I walked over to the mail bins, I saw a bright green corner sticking out of the door to Josh's box. The corner was a little crumpled, as if someone had tried to force it into the mailbox, and when I pulled it out, I realized that was exactly what had happened. I recognized from the handwriting that it was another note from my stalker, but it hadn't been delivered by the mailman. It didn't have a postmark, or a return address, and on the front of the envelope all that was written was my name. I wondered for a second why they hadn't just shoved it under my door if they could get this far, but then realized that they mustn't have been able to get through the inside gate, which blocked the courtyard from the street.
They had brought this to the apartment. They knew where I lived.
Shoving the rest of the mail back in the box, I tore open the envelope. This one didn't contain a card, but instead had a glossy photograph of Justin and I, eating our sandwiches at the outside tables of the bistro. It wasn't a clipping. It was an actual photograph, from someone's camera. I turned it over, barely noticing that my hand was shaking.
"I see you," the top line read.
I almost dropped the picture as I jerked my head up, looking around the street. Old lady walking her dog, guy on a bike, twenty or so parked cars, cars going by, my brain noted as my eyes ticked over the surroundings. I didn't think I knew any of these people, but I couldn't see into every car parked on the street. He could be out there, right now, anywhere nearby. I hadn't been scared yet, treating this as kind of a game, but I was now. I felt like the heroine in a bad horror movie, and wondered how long it would be before I was spinning in a circle with my arms out, screaming, "What are you waiting for?" My eyes dropped down to the photograph to read the rest as my other hand fumbled for my keys, knowing I'd need them to get back inside the relative safety of the courtyard.
"I see you. Do you see me yet? You should, because I know you, and I know what's going on. I think it's time we met face to face, don't you? We're so overdue for a chat."
Below that was an address I didn't recognize, and below that the phrase, "Last booth." The stalker had also left a note with a date and time, two days from now. I was stuffing the picture back into the envelope when I felt a hand settle onto my shoulder. I spun, fists out, and collided with Joey.
"Jack!" he yelped, jumping back. "Jesus, Jack, are you ok?"
I stared at Joey, realizing that I had missed punching him in the face by about four inches, and I just lost it. Sliding down the wall, I crossed my arms over my knees, put my head down on them, and just broke down and started crying. Suddenly it was all too much, all of it.
"Jack?" Joey asked again, squatting down. He put a hand on my shoulder.
"No," I sobbed. "No, I'm not ok."
I didn't look up, but I could hear the concern in his voice.
"Do you, um, do you want to talk about it?" Joey asked, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.
"Chris and I had this fight," I began, "and I miss Josh, and I can't sleep, and there's all this other shit going on, and I just can't deal with any of it right now."
Joey sighed, and then gently took both of my arms.
"Come on," he said, tugging me to my feet.
"Where are we going?" I asked, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. I still held the envelope.
"Just come on," Joey said, leading me back inside and then across the courtyard.
We walked to Joey's apartment, him still leading me, but not talking, and I realized that I had never been inside of his. I hadn't been in Lance's, either, but I liked Joey. He opened the door, and I saw that it was mostly identical to the others, except that there were Superman posters on all of the walls. I remembered reading somewhere that Joey was a collector of Superman memorabilia, and I smiled. How could you feel unsafe with Superman staring at you from all sides at once? Joey led me through the living room to his guest bedroom, and pointed at the bed.
"Lay down," he said.
"Why?" I asked, suspicious. I was too tired suddenly, and felt too drained, to think of what he might do.
"Because I said so," he said. Joey could look very determined when he wanted to. "Lay down, and take a nap, and I'll come wake you when lunch is ready."
"I don't need a nap," I said stubbornly.
Joey blocked the door with his body.
"Then you just lay there, and calm down, and wait until I come get you," he said, crossing his arms. "Got it?"
I climbed onto the bed, feeling foolish, as Joey closed the blinds, and then closed the door. I lay with my head on the pillow, staring at the wall, and realized I was still holding the green envelope. I put it on the nightstand, not wanting to look at it any more, and turned my head the other way. Before I knew it, and despite my insistence that I didn't need a nap, the next time I opened my eyes was when Joey gently shook me awake. I looked around blearily and realized that the room was a lot darker than when I had come in.
"Lunchtime?" I asked, sitting up. I could feel that I had red crease lines on my face from the pillowcase.
"You slept all the way through lunch," Joey said. "It's time for dinner."
"Joey, I'm sorry," I began, sliding out of bed.
"Don't be," he said, walking toward the main room. "I ate lunch without you, and you needed the rest. Let's eat."
I followed Joey to the dinner table, and saw a bowl of pasta, a half loaf of garlic bread, and a bowl of salad. The table was set, but not in Josh's usual artful arrangement, with the candles and everything in just the right place and the napkins folded into birds. Joey set the table like any guy living alone. The food was there, and the plates were out, but there wasn't anything extra or fancy. The only concession was a pair of Superman salt and pepper shakers. The rest of the dishes, I knew, came with the apartment.
Joey handed me a beer from the refrigerator, and the two of us dug in.
"This is really good," I said, breaking the silence.
"Thanks," Joey said. "It's just pasta. The sauce came from a jar, and the bread was in the freezer."
"That doesn't make it any less good," I said.
We kept eating, and I wondered why Joey hadn't broached the obvious yet.
"Joey, are you going to ask me what's wrong?" I asked finally.
He looked up from his plate.
"No," Joey answered, and went back to eating.
"Why not?" I asked, curious.
"Because you'll tell me if you need to," he said, shrugging. "Besides, I don't think it's what you need right now. You and Chris got in a fight about whatever's bothering you, right?"
"Yeah," I answered.
"He'll get over it," Joey said, shrugging again. "If you want to have the same argument twice in one day, then fine, I'll ask."
"No, thanks," I said. "I'm sorry for crashing on you like this."
"I told you before not to apologize," Joey said, taking another sip of his beer.
"But it's so unlike me," I said, feeling uncomfortable with the memory. Joey exuded such a warm presence that I couldn't help but talk to him, whether I wanted to or not.
"I know," he said, going back to his food.
"But you don't even really know me," I said, confused. How could he know what was or wasn't like me?
"I know of you," Joey said. "Since I got here, all I've heard about is you, from JC, and Chris, and Justin, and yes, even Lance, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what you're like. I'm willing to bet that whatever it is you're sitting on, you're doing it because you really think it's for the best, and I respect that. I can also see that whatever it is that you're holding onto is eating you up, and I hope you'll do something to solve it, quick. If you don't, well, I guess I'll still be around to help put you back together, at least until JC gets back."
"You know all that, and you and I have never even really hung out," I said, finding it all hard to believe.
"Like I said, I know of you," Joey said. "And I know you'd do the same for me, or for any of us."
We finished dinner in silence. Afterward, Joey put a movie in, and I stayed to watch it. About halfway through, Josh called, asking Joey if I was there, and I realized I had left the cell phone in our apartment. I talked to Josh for a little while, explaining that I was hanging out with Joey, and taking the phone into the back bedroom. Josh told me all about the day he had spent with his sister, and how they had talked some more, and how she really was ok with everything. He also told me he was flying out to Chicago to see his parents and brother the next morning, early, so I let him get to bed. When I hung up, I was hit with a crushing sense of loss, and realized again how badly I missed Josh.
When I walked back into the living room, the movie had ended, and Joey was turning things off to go to bed.
"I'm going to turn in," he said, staring at me. "If you want to go home, you can, or you can just crash in the spare room there if you want to."
I realized again that I felt very safe and secure with Joey.
"You don't mind?" I asked.
"I mind that you keep asking," Joey said. "I wouldn't offer if it bothered me."
"Thank you, Joey," I said, suddenly very touched.
Joey walked over and squeezed me in another of his bone-crushing hugs.
"This is all going to work out, Jack," he said. "Now get some sleep."
I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the guest bed, thinking again of how safe I felt. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was that Joey was right, and it was all going to work out, because I was going to make it work.
I was going to talk to Justin in the morning whether he wanted to or not.
More to come soon.