Vendetta
By Diana
Author's Notes: While "The More Things Change" is still my top priority, I thought you'd all like a taste of what's to come in the meantime. :) Both this and "Angels" were supposed to be released on Monday, but that didn't go over too well with the webmaster. So "Vendetta" is here today, and "Angels" will probably be posted tomorrow.
BSB fans be warned, I don't have a lot of info on them, so I may get some facts wrong. Sorry in advance! :)
Disclaimer: I don't know anyone portrayed or mentioned here. This story is entirely fiction and is copyrighted 2001 Diana Martin.
Prologue
He never dreamed anymore. Only his closest friends knew that, and even then all they were certain of was that he'd been taking dream suppressants on a daily basis for the past three years. They'd given him the third degree when they found out, tried everything to make him stop. Ultimately, when they realized the pills were mostly harmless, they let it slide. After all, they had wives and girlfriends and clubs and solo projects to worry about. Who had time to care about Nick Carter and his problems?
He often wondered what kind of dreams he would have if things had been different. Dreams of home, of his brothers and sisters. Maybe even wet dreams about his longtime crush. But when he tried to sleep without taking the pill, the same nightmare would always return, endlessly replaying the horror and pain. He could never escape the torment, so he just stopped dreaming.
He would take his secret to the grave. If the others ever found out, they would never forgive him. Better that they remain clueless, and wonder why when it was over.
Nickolas Gene Carter blinked back tears as he slammed the cartridge into the pistol and pulled back the hammer. Yes. He'd be free when it was over. He'd fantasized about this moment for six hellish years, and now he was finally of age. The gun was legally his, the POWER was his after so long.
When this was over, he would throw the pills away and sleep. And he would dream, oh yes, he would dream every single dream that had been stolen from him. He would even dream about Kevin, just to show that he could. A final insult.
Smiling in anticipation, he bent over and slid the small gun into his boot.
Time to give the devil his due.
No one seemed to recognize him as he strode into the building. But then, that made sense: not just because he was wearing a heavy jacket, sunglasses and a baseball cap, but also because he hadn't been here in years. Still, he knew his way around; there was a time when he'd considered this place a second home to him. When he'd been naive and foolish... and innocent.
There were two other people, an older couple, already in the elevator when he got in. He flashed them a disarming smile, and they smiled back. But as soon as they left, his cheerful expression melted away like heated wax. He shook his arm slightly, and a switchblade dropped out of his sleeve into his waiting hand.
Justin Randall Timberlake leaned against the wall, staring at the object in his hand. Could he really do this? Could he bring himself to commit murder? The thought didn't bring any excitement or dread, but he hadn't expected it to. He hadn't felt ANYTHING since he was fourteen. Bits and pieces every now and then, but never any firm emotions. That was what had been done to him, what he'd come here to avenge.
His hand closed tightly around the knife handle. Since then, the only thing he could feel was craving for his new addiction. He'd taken lithium to keep a "happy face" around his friends, but the feelings never lasted long enough. So he took a ste up, and then another, and then another.
But he could never forget the pain. It always stayed with him, and it was all he could do to just snort up cocaine and drift away on an artificial high.
The others hadn't figured it out yet. Joey would kill him if he found out, he had a friend in New York who'd died of an overdose. And Justin was fairly sure he would suffer that fate as well. It was only a matter of time.
But tonight would be different. Tonight he would unleash all the hatred and fury he'd locked within himself. Tonight he would have his revenge. And joy would come then, a real and true joy that would wash over him like a gentle tide. He'd never need drugs again.
The elevator reached the top floor. It was time. His thumb brushed against the small button on the handle; pressing it would release a six-inch blade, sharp enough to cut through skin like butter.
"Payback time, you bastard." he whispered.
The next morning
Blood coursed down the back of his legs. Layers of fat were pressed against him, stinking of sweat and cheap cologne. Wide, rubbery lips slid down his neck, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, tears he'd sworn not to shed. He tried to scream, but there was no air in his lungs. The sharp, stabbing pains grew more and more frequent, until...
"NO!" Nick shrieked as he lurched up in bed. When the momentary flash of panic subsided, he spat a vile curse and kicked the nearby nightstand, knocking it over.
The nightmares persisted. Even after last night. Even though he'd slept with the gun in his hand, a symbol of his victory.
The blonde buried his face in his shaking hands. It wasn't enough. Nothing he did would ever be enough. Taking a deep breath, Nick grit his teeth and calmed himself. He had to be in total control. If he lost it, if he showed any fear or grief, the others would figure it out. And they would condemn him.
He reached out for his pills, felt the comforting cylinder shape in his palm. As long as he took these, once a day before sleep, he would be safe. His sanity would remain intact.
Someone knocked on his door. Nick's eyes widened in panic; had he locked it before going to bed? He couldn't remember. Rather than take the chance, the youngest Backstreet Boy shoved the gun under his pillow. "Yeah?" he called out once he was sure everything was in place.
The door opened slowly, and Kevin Richardson walked through, hair askew and eyes rimmed with red. He'd been crying; he WAS crying. Shutting the door behind him, Kevin walked into the room and sat down on the bed with a heavy thump. Their eyes met, and despite himself Nick felt the strength of his attraction to the other man. Even at his worst, Kevin was beautiful.
For a long moment, there was silence as Kevin wiped his eyes and sniffed. Even before he spoke, Nick knew what he was about to say.
"Mmm..." Justin moaned as he stirred from sleep, his ears ringing and a soft mattress pressed against his face. He was lying on his stomach, but for a moment, he wasn't sure where he was.
The salty copper taste in his mouth was all he needed to remember. After... just AFTER, he'd gone back to the hotel room. Another cocaine binge. Another nose bleed. And then he'd passed out on the bed.
He'd been wrong. All the time he'd spent planning his revenge, his JUSTICE... for nothing. He hadn't felt better when it was over. Just empty. The disappointment was so great that he'd done a week's worth of cocaine in just a few minutes; he'd been that desperate to feel something. Desperate, and lost. If what he'd done last night couldn't save him, nothing would.
His addiction would kill him, little by little. But Justin didn't care anymore. Death was the only way he'd ever have peace again.
The groggy teen pulled himself upright, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His upper lip was caked in smears of white and red, coke and dried blood. Justin shuddered in disgust and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve. He hated this part; when he got off his high and realized what a mess he was. There was always the shame and guilt and plain HORROR that this was what he'd become. But he couldn't fight it.
The ringing continued, and Justin realized it was the phone. Swinging his legs off the bed, the teen paused for a long moment to get his bearings and then picked up the receiver.
"What?" he mumbled, still feeling a slight haze clouding his mind. This better not be a damned wake-up call...
"Justin, it's me." There was an unusual tremor in Joey's voice; he sounded on the brink of tears. "You'd better come downstairs."
"What's going on?" Justin asked, even though he knew. Only one thing could have happened recently to upset Joey Fatone.
And the answer came, three words which Justin knew would change his life forever.
"Lou's been murdered."
To be continued...