Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
-
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.
-
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.
This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.
At long last, and by popular demand.
Jack
None of this would have happened if I had just quit smoking like Josh wanted me to. I could blame Chris, I guess, since he usually provided cigarettes, but really, it wasn't his fault. He was about as much to blame as DiCaprio, although Chris gave them to me with more frequency. Still, when we went out, it was just hard not to grab a cigarette. It's not like I smoked all the time, just socially, and even then usually only when I was stressed. Before anyone asks, I was stressed because we had to fly out in the morning, and I had no idea of what I was flying into. I had never been to Florida, didn't know anyone there besides the guys, and had no job. I was working on it, and assumed I'd meet some people there, but still, I was feeling a little unsettled, which is how I found myself following some guys from the bathroom out into the side alley, where I bummed a cigarette off of them.
They seemed like cool enough guys, if a little drunk and frat boyish. One of them recognized me after we were in the alley, and they began to ask me lots of questions, not about Josh, but about Britney Spears. Straight boys are so much fun when they're drunk.
"So you've like, touched her?" one of them asked, as the other three waited, standing around him at attention.
Not as much as I touched her boyfriend, I thought, smirking. They didn't need to hear that little tidbit, thanks, although it might be worth it to see their faces.
"Not only touched her, I've hugged her," I answered, grinning around my cigarette.
"Ohhhhh!" the four guys cheered, high-fiving each other, and then me, as if by touching my hand they might be touching her in some frightening six degrees of Kevin Bacon way.
"Dude, what does she smell like?" one of them asked, so drunk he could barely stand, leaning heavily on one of the others.
"Soap," I answered, giggling. Their reactions were priceless. "Oh, and perfume. You know, the floral kind. The strong stuff."
For the life of me I couldn't name a single feminine perfume. What use did Josh and I have for them? Ask me what he smelled like, and I could give you a full rundown of the bottles we shared in the bathroom. Still, the guys seemed to know what I meant, and continued grinning. We talked about Britney for several minutes, the guys wanting to hear every tiny detail of what she wore, what she ate, and how she looked. I wasn't really sharing anything intimate, nothing they couldn't get from an article in Cosmo Girl, so I didn't feel bad telling them that Britney liked salad and only drank diet soda. Eventually, the guys decided that they wanted to go back in, so I bummed another cigarette off of them and wished them a good night.
As I took a slow inhale, savoring it, wondering why I had ragged on Carla all those times that we ran and she lit up afterward, I heard my phone ring. "I lie awake, I drive myself crazy," the notes chimed. Every time I heard it I smiled, and when I pulled it out, I saw that it was Josh. I saw the time at the bottom, and realized I'd been gone for quite a while. I debated answering the phone, but realized that I'd have to explain where I was, and would have to listen to a lecture that would suck all of the joy out of the cigarette, which was probably the last one I'd get before we saw Chris. I sighed, holding the phone, but never got a chance to decide if I wanted to answer it or not. I was probably one button push, less than a second, really, away from preventing all of this from happening, and I couldn't answer the phone because I was being selfish and petty.
Someone had come out of the club, out that back door, and I didn't turn around to see who it was because I was staring at the phone. While I was holding it, running my internal debate, listening to the chiming notes programmed in off of Josh's first album, they stepped up behind me, and before I could decide to answer the phone or just go back inside hands grabbed the back of my shirt, lifting me off of my feet as I was slammed, face first, into the dumpster in front of me. My forehead connected painfully with the metal, and I dimly realized that it was making the loud banging sound that rang through my ears. As I slumped to the ground, trying to stay up, but dazed and dizzy, I felt a hand press a cloth over my nose and mouth as I fought for air, and suddenly I couldn't keep my eyes open, couldn't keep track of anything.
The last thing I saw as I lay on the ground, on the dirty floor of the alley, was my phone, under the dumpster, the faceplate lighting as it rang.
My last thought was of Josh.
I woke up in pain. My head was throbbing, almost blindingly, and when I raised a hand to it carefully, I felt a large knot there. I wondered dimly if I might have a concussion, and then realized that I wasn't in a hospital. I remembered what had happened to me, remembered the shove, and the hand, and realized that something was very wrong here. Opening my eyes, I saw that I was lying on a mattress, on a concrete floor. There was a sheet on it, and my head was on a pillow, but there was no bed. I sat up and almost blacked out from moving too fast, falling back onto the mattress. I raised my hands to my head to hold it, trying to quell the throbbing, and realized that something else felt wrong. I held them out in front of me, squinting through the pain.
"No, oh no," I said, looking at my hand, my bare left hand. My ring was gone.
What had happened to me? Where was I, and who was here? With slowly dawning horror, I realized that I was in deep shit. OK, then, I needed to pause, collect myself, and figure out as much as I could. I was lying on a mattress, in obvious need of medical attention, and I was alone. Clearly whoever had brought me here was not a friend. I started thinking about the ring, felt myself slipping, wanting to cry, and pushed it away. I would cry later, when I was back with Josh. Right now, I needed to know where I was, and what was going on.
Sitting up more slowly now, trying not to move too fast, I looked around the room, and tried to put all of the pieces together. There was one light in the room, a single bulb hanging down from the ceiling with no shade, and it didn't have a pull string. Maybe there was a light switch somewhere? The mattress was the only furniture I saw, other than a sink on one of the flat white walls, and a toilet behind a little half wall. It was an older model sink, white porcelain, with pipes coming up out of the floor and metal twists for the water on either side of the dull silver faucet. I realized that there weren't any windows, and tried to figure out what kind of room this was, where I could be. The ceiling was as flat and white as the walls, and the only other features of the room were the door and a black plastic bubble in one of the corners of the ceiling.
Sliding carefully off of the mattress, I began to notice other things as well. My shoes were gone, and so was my belt. There was no light switch, but I did find a button, kind of like a doorbell. It was the only thing on any of the walls, but I decided to check the door first, before I figured out what the button was for. I pressed my hands to the door, but it didn't move, and I stupidly realized that the hinges were on my side. The door opened in, but there was no handle, no way for me to pull it toward me. Down at the bottom I noticed a flap, almost like a pet door, but it was only a couple of inches high, even if it was a foot wide. I squatted down, lifting the flap, trying to see what might be on the other side, but the other side was dark. I pushed my fingers through the flap, gripping the door, and tugged it toward me, but it wouldn't budge.
Cursing, I looked up at the black bubble. It didn't seem to be anything, really, although I guessed it was important. There was so little here that it must be, but what the hell could it be? I recognized it suddenly as a security camera bubble, like the ones on the ceiling at a store. I didn't recognize it because my head hurt and because it was so far out of context.
"What the fuck?" I asked softly, staring up at it.
There was nothing else to see. I had a mattress, with just a sheet, and a pillow. I had a light I couldn't turn off, a door with a flap in it, and a camera in the ceiling. I didn't have a shower, but I had a sink, soap, a washcloth, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a roll of toilet paper on the floor. I had a big knot on my forehead, and I'd apparently been robbed. My shoes, belt, and ring were gone, as was my wallet, but reaching up, I felt that my necklace was still there. I was still connected to Josh, even if my ring was gone. I wanted to cry, but that wouldn't help me right now. I needed to be strong and figure this out. Crying could wait until later. I rubbed my thumb over the necklace, feeling the Scorpio on one side and the Leo on the other, and wondered when Josh would find me.
He had to be looking for me, had to be frantic with worry. Actually, he was probably a mess. Josh was really strong sometimes, could anchor me really well, and I anchored Josh, too, but it only worked if we were together. When we were apart, anything could happen. I got flighty, and Josh got weepy, and it was just bad drama all around. Still, he had Justin with him, and Justin would hold him down. The two of them were probably out right now, looking for me, but where the hell was I? Was this a place they'd even be able to find? And how long had I been here? I remembered the cloth that had folded over my mouth, and realized I'd been drugged, but had no idea how long I had been out. There was no mirror, but running my hand over my cheeks I felt stubble, and guessed I'd been down for a day or two.
Looking around the room, I realized there was one thing I hadn't looked at yet, hadn't explored. Walking slowly across the room, I stared at the doorbell, and wondered what the hell it was for. There was a speaker set into the wall, behind a little metal faceplate, right above it, which I hadn't noticed before since it was heavily painted over to blend in with the walls. I pressed the button, but heard nothing. I pressed it again, and then a third time, but heard nothing. Shrugging, I began to pace, trying to reason this all out. I realized stupidly that I was a prisoner. Was I being held for ransom? How very "Days of Our Lives." I giggled absently, in spite of the situation. As if me and Josh weren't riddled with enough trauma already, now I was locked up in a basement, like Marlena. This really wasn't funny, but it was either laugh or cry, and I'd already decided to cry later.
A voice crackling out of the speaker startled me.
"So, you're finally up. How's the head?"
I didn't recognize the voice, as it was altered with one of those voice modulator things, like in a "Scream" movie. It wasn't as clean as that, of course, since the voices in those movies were dubbed in, but it was mangled enough for me not to be able to place it right away. Still, if he was going to the trouble of covering his voice, that meant I might be out of here someday, because he would be afraid that I might be able to identify him later.
"Hello?" I asked, sitting on the mattress. "Hello?"
"You have to press the button, you idiot," the voice answered.
I walked over to the wall again, pissed because I didn't want to give him even more of the upper hand.
"Where's my ring, you fucker?" I spat, holding the button down.
"The ring? I needed it for something," he answered.
"What do you want?" I asked. "Is it money? Josh'll pay for me."
"I don't think he will, actually," he answered.
I heard a noise, and glanced down. A folder had been pushed through the flap, a plain manila folder like you'd find in any office, or, apparently, kidnapper's basement.
"Pick it up," he said, a garbled chuckle carrying through the radio. "I think you might find something interesting."
"Fuck you," I mumbled, bending to pick up the folder, knowing he couldn't hear me because I didn't hold the button down. Bending over made the big knot on my head throb, again, but I ignored it. Opening the folder, I saw snapshots of Josh and Justin, at the airport. Josh looked upset, and Justin was kind of hovering around him, but it looked like they were going into the first class lounge. I walked back to the button. "And what the fuck are these supposed to be?"
"Look a little closer at those, Jack," the voice advised. "Look at the flight boards behind them. Look at the date."
I stared at the pictures again, looking past Josh this time, and felt a shiver go down my spine.
"What day is it?" I asked, stabbing the button with my finger. He only laughed. "What fucking day is it?"
"Thursday," he answered. It was hard to tell with the stupid voice modulator, but I almost thought I could hear him smiling. "But it's the afternoon. I took those this morning."
"Fuck!" I shouted, throwing the pictures down, walking in a quick circle around the room, wanting to hit something. Instead I jabbed at the button again. "What the fuck did you do? Where are they going?"
"Past tense, Jack," the voice answered snottily. I don't know if I was actually reading tones off of it, or if I was just projecting them. "'Where did they go?' would be the appropriate question."
"Where, did, they, go?" I spat, spacing every word, biting them off. Silence. "Answer me, God damn it!"
"They went to Florida, Jack," the voice answered. "They went home to Orlando, without you."
He held down the button as he laughed, letting me hear it, even though it was choppy and staticky through the modulator.
"Josh wouldn't leave me," I said, shaking my head. I realized that I wasn't holding the button in, so I pushed it. "Josh wouldn't leave me. This is some kind of trick, it has to be."
"Oh, it is," he answered. "But it's not a trick on you. Where do you think your ring is, Jack?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, no, no."
I heard laughter again.
"You haven't answered, Jack," the voice prompted. "I see you shaking your head, but you haven't answered my question. Where do you think your ring is?"
"What the fuck did you do with it?" I asked, holding in the button, realizing his camera had no sound.
"I gave it back to JC," the voice answered. "I left him a nice little note, from you, along with your ring. He's not coming back for you, Jack, because he thinks you're the one that left."
"Josh wouldn't believe that," I said, feeling tears rush to my eyes despite my fighting not to cry. I didn't want to cry in front of whoever this was, whatever smug bastard was on the other end of this speaker, but I couldn't help it. "Josh wouldn't believe that I'd leave him."
"Funny, it sure looks like he did," the voice argued. I glanced down at the pictures around my feet again. No. This couldn't be happening. "He sure looked like he believed it when he got on that plane this morning."
"Fuck you," I said, letting go of the button. I wiped at my eyes, struggling not to cry still. Josh wouldn't believe this, wouldn't leave me. I snapped the button again. "Josh will come back for me, damn it. He'll come back, and he'll find me, and we'll kick the shit out of you!"
Laughter again.
"He's not coming back, Jack."
I walked away from the speaker, wiping at my eyes, my vision going blurry. This couldn't be real, couldn't be possible. My head hurt, and now I felt dizzy and confused. Josh wouldn't leave me, wouldn't believe this. Even if he did, even if for a second he thought it was real, he'd come to his senses. He'd come back for me. He'd come find me. I just had to wait for him, just had to hold out, and be strong. I reached up to my throat, and felt my necklace. He hadn't taken that, whoever it was, probably didn't know what it meant, but I knew. I still had Josh. He was still here, with me, and he'd help me get through this.
"JC isn't coming back, Jack," the voice said again. "How does that make you feel?"
I didn't get up, didn't answer. I closed my eyes, and tried to think of Josh, feeling the tears stream down my cheeks.
"Answer me, Jack," the voice demanded. "How do you feel, knowing that you're here all alone, and he isn't coming back for you? Jack?"
I didn't get up. I turned toward the camera and extended my middle finger, and then turned away from it, tucking my legs under me and sitting with my eyes closed, trying to feel Josh, trying to keep myself from breaking down completely. I was not going to cry here, not in front of this guy. I wasn't going to give him what he wanted.
"Answer me, Jack!" the voice snapped again.
"Fuck you," I said, not moving my lips, knowing he couldn't hear.
Fuck you, asshole. I'll talk when I want to. Apparently he figured that out, because he stopped talking. In the silence, I looked around again, and tired to put the rest of this together. This wasn't the kind of room you just happened to have around. You didn't just randomly have a little prison set up in your basement, especially not one that had closed circuit television monitoring and a two way radio speaker system. You built a room like this, built it for a purpose, and it took time to do that. Whoever did this was planning for a while, and had thought this out. It was someone who knew where we were staying, because they'd been able to trail us to the club. It was someone who knew our schedule, knew when we were supposed to fly out. They must have known it was their last chance, which had to be the only reason why they would risk taking me from a public place.
It wasn't necessarily someone who hated me, although it could be. It could be a psycho crazy fan, but the way they had talked to me on the intercom made me almost think that they knew me. Maybe I couldn't tell through the stupid modulator, but they had sounded almost like they were familiar with me, had used my name like an old friend. Either it was someone who hated me, or someone who wanted me separated from Josh. Peyton was dead, so that left only two people, either of whom would be able to set something like this up.
Basil Morgan, the sleazy gossip columnist, was one. He had been sure he'd be the one to break our story, to out Josh, and he was planning to use it to catapult himself into the status of real, recognized reporter, maybe into television journalism after a hell of a makeover. Josh had denied him the story by dragging me across the carpet at that awards show, and he had promised afterward that it wasn't the end of it, but that had been the last we had heard of him. He could be out for revenge, out to prevent us from enjoying the relationship that had almost been his ticket up.
On the other hand, I could also look at Stan, the guy from management. I didn't even know Stan's last name, but he had been determined to keep Josh and I apart, making it as difficult as possible for the two of us to stay together, practically blocking us at every turn. He had thrown forms at us, had tried to convince Josh that I would destroy the band, that him coming out would ruin everything. He had tried to convince me that I was ruining Josh's concentration, that I would end up costing him everything, but Justin had intervened, banishing Stan to a back office somewhere, and I never saw him again after that. If he really thought I was a threat to the band, he could be protecting himself.
Either way, I couldn't say anything, couldn't bait him outright on the speaker. The voice modulator implied that I might get out of here, that he was planning to let me go at some point, but he might not do that if I knew who he was. I had to figure it out, had to get enough clues that I'd be able to finger him later, but for now I just had to stay cool, and wait this out. Besides, I still had hope that Josh would put this together, that he would still be able to feel me, and feel that I loved him. I touched my necklace again, wishing Josh was here, but knowing we were still together. Josh would come save me, and all I had to do was make sure we could get whoever this was when he did.
I sat on the mattress, and realized that I missed Josh. I missed just knowing he was in the next room, or that any second now he would walk in and hug me, or put his hands on my shoulders, or kiss me. I missed the sound of his voice, the soft husky tone he could use with me. I missed the way that he could whisper my name, and make me feel whole. I opened my eyes, picturing Josh's blue ones, thinking of how they reminded me of the sea, and the sky, and how every time I looked into them I almost felt like I was falling. I realized that Josh must miss me, too. Over the past few weeks since he'd given me the ring, since we'd done our interviews, he and I had spent practically every minute together, but it wasn't a smothering closeness. It was fulfillment. Not having him here, not feeling that proximity, I almost felt like I'd lost a limb. There was a spot inside me, a definite space, that I could point to and say, "That's where Josh goes."
I looked at the scattering of pictures that I'd dropped to the floor earlier, and leaned over to scoop them up. Returning to the mattress, I looked at them carefully, and realized that Josh needed me. I could see the circles under his eyes, the shadows that were never there unless he was unhappy. Even in these still snapshots he looked distracted, unfocused. I could tell from the pictures that Justin was hovering around him, was guiding him, and I could also see from the expression on Justin's face that he was kind of lost, too. He looked concerned, and kind of anxious, and was hovering around Josh rather helplessly. I tried to imagine what the two of them had gone through, how Josh would react to me suddenly being gone in the night, and realized that Justin probably wouldn't be handling it all that well, either, but that he'd be able to hold it together for Josh. Justin had a hard part of himself that Josh didn't have, an ability to realize that things were rough, but to just grit his teeth and get through it. I'd only seen Justin actually break down, for real, maybe twice, although I'd heard it happened with Lance, too.
Josh was in good hands if Justin had been with him. He'd be ok until I got back, especially since they were going back to Florida, and the rest of the guys were there. They would take care of Josh, would help him keep it together, and even if Josh believed now that I had left him, he would come to his senses and realize that it couldn't be true. He would know that I would never do this, that I could never walk away from him without a word, without talking to him about it, or giving him a chance to work through whatever it was that might bother me. Josh wouldn't want to face this, wouldn't be able to deal with it. If he really believed that I left him, he would shut down, wouldn't be able to process it. If they had flown out this morning, as it appeared that they had, it would be Josh's idea, because he wouldn't want to stay here. He would want to push everything away and pull up inside himself.
But he would pull out of it.
Josh would figure this out, and he'd come back for me. He'd come find me, because he loved me.
As if the thought of Josh could summon him, I suddenly heard his voice through the speaker, heard him singing. "Bye Bye Bye" was blasting out of the speaker plate, filling the room, and I smiled. Was this supposed to be some kind of psychological warfare? Was this supposed to make me miss Josh even more? Because it wasn't going to work. This was the sound of the man I loved. These were the voices of my friends, the guys who had become my family. If hearing them was supposed to upset me, to make me think of what was gone, it wasn't going to work, because this just made me feel like they were here with me. I sat on the mattress, holding the pictures of Josh and Justin, rubbing my thumb over my necklace every once in a while, listening to the sounds of their voices give me strength. This was just going to help me keep going, even if he ended up playing that God-awful Christmas album.
The entire album played through, twice, before I heard from my abductor again. I had stopped sitting up, instead curling up on my side on the mattress, just letting their voices carry me, letting the memories of happier times take me beyond the walls of this room. The only time I thought I would break down was when "This I Promise You" came on, reminding me of the day Josh proposed, the day I had woken up and we had completely committed to each other, to being together. I looked at my hand, seeing the light band where I hadn't tanned, where my wedding ring was supposed to be, and I wanted to cry suddenly at what I was being denied, but then I realized that he had just taken the ring. All he had was a symbol. I still had Josh in my heart.
"Pass the pictures back through the door, Jack," the voice said, startling me. I sat up, looking around stupidly as if I thought someone would actually be in the room. "Pass the pictures back through the flap in the door."
Was he afraid that looking at them some more would give me hope? I got up and walked over to the button.
"What if I don't want to?" I asked defiantly. "Are you going to come in and get them?"
There was silence for a moment. Maybe my kidnapper had expected me to be a little less pissy, to break, but I was determined not to. Just because I was a captive didn't mean I was his to play with.
"Do you want to eat?" he asked, and I felt sudden dread.
As soon as he mentioned food, my stomach convulsed almost painfully. I had been drugged and unconscious for days, hadn't eaten a damn thing, and now my body was letting me know that yes, I was hungry. I hadn't noticed it until he mentioned it, but now I realized that I needed food, needed to eat. If he wanted me to trade the pictures for food, though, there was no reason I couldn't play with him, too.
"What are you saying?" I asked, letting a little whining slip into my voice.
"If you want food, you'll give back the pictures," he explained. I had to smother a grin, realizing that this was going to work.
"Please," I began pleadingly. "They're all I have. Please, can I just keep one?"
"No," he answered. "Not if you want to eat."
"Please! I miss him so much!" I said, letting my voice quiver a little. I worried that I was pouring it on a little too much, and decided not to push it. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to us?"
There was a pause again, and I wondered if my kidnapper might be stupid. He must have known I'd ask these questions, and yet he didn't seem ready to answer them. Was the stupidity a clue?
"I'm going to take everything you have," he answered finally. "I'm going to take everything you have, everything JC has given you. I'm taking it all away. And then, when JC has someone else, when he's found someone new, and moved on, when he's forgotten about you and you have nothing left, then I'll let you go."
I shivered, but knew I had him. Sinking to my knees, I buried my face in my hands, knowing he'd be watching this all in the camera. I gave my simulated crying a good five minutes, my shoulders shaking, my face covered, and then, pretending to still sob, sniffling, wiping at my eyes since I'd actually managed to produce a few tears, I gathered up the pictures, pretending to try to hide one under my pillow.
"All of the pictures, Jack," he said. Oh, yes, I had him good, and he thought he had me.
"Damn it!" I yelled, making it look good, and pulled out the last picture, too. Shoving them back into the folder, I pushed it through the flap under the door, and waited.
"There's a good boy," he said. "Enjoy dinner."
A paper plate with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on it slid through the flap. I picked it up, and pressed the speaker button.
"What am I supposed to drink?" I asked testily, thinking that this small a portion of food would probably only make me hungrier.
"There's the faucet," he answered. "I'd give you a cup, but don't want you breaking it and trying to hurt yourself. I'm sure you understand."
I understood, but didn't think he did. He thought he had me, and physically, he did. Mentally, I was still free, and I needed to start digging my hooks in. After all, I was Jack Springer, and I'd dealt with worse than him. You didn't hit me without getting hit back, and I was just getting warmed up.
I sat on the mattress, carefully chewing my sandwiches, trying to take only small bites to make the meal last longer, and planned my next move.
To be continued.