JC's Hitchhiker

 

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CHAPTER 66

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JUSTIN'S POV: 

"So, do you want to talk about it?" Nick asked, looking up at me, lying on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms. 

Sunlight filtered in through the blinds in Nick's all white bedroom, seeming to bounce and reflect off of the walls. He and I lay in the bed, the only colors in the room our two tanned bodies. I had the sheet pulled up to my waist, my knees pulled to my chest as I rested my arms and head on them, and he lay on top of the sheets, staring up at me, completely naked with his ass sticking up and no shame at all. He'd just finished treating me to a morning wake up blowjob, which had of course been good, but now we were just kind of sitting there, me lost in thought and him lost in afterglow, or so I thought. I was trying to decide if I should just get up and go, or if maybe I should offer to take him to breakfast. After all, he'd done most of the servicing, so I probably owed him a meal. 

"Talk about what?" I asked. "Last night?" 

"Let's not play games on that one, Justin," Nick said, smiling. He really was a cute guy, but we were way too much alike, and besides, he wasn't Josh. "You and I know that we had some fun, actually, some pretty hot fun, but I don't think either one of us is planning on this going anywhere, are we?" 

"No," I answered, smiling at him. We were both grinning, two sluts in the same bed. "But it was a lot of fun." 

"So what's eating you, Justin?" Nick asked. "I mean, you look pretty distracted, staring off into space, and you didn't even really order me around during that hummer just now. So, if your brain isn't on me, and it isn't on your dick, where the hell is it? You must be pissed about something, 'cause you seemed kind of pissed last night, unless, you know, that was just part of you being you. Not that it wasn't fun, 'cause sometimes I like being on the bottom, and the fucking was pretty hot, but you just seemed kind of angry." 

I glanced over at him, trying to read him, listening to him and remembering from last night that Nick was a babbler. There didn't seem to be anything behind the question, any ill will in his face, as his blue eyes twinkled innocently up at me from under his parted bangs. I almost giggled when I saw the hickey I'd left on his neck. 

"I don't know," I said, shifting a little. "I kind of, you know, had a little fight with a friend last night." 

"A 'friend', or just a friend?" Nick asked. The sunlight gleamed on his shoulders, and I wondered if he waxed his back. I wouldn't be surprised. Josh had his chest waxed, and I'd had mine done before, too, although I really just wasn't very hairy. 

"See, that's the problem," I said, shrugging. "I want him to be more than a friend, but he's kind of hung up on someone else." 

"So you're trying to break them up?" Nick asked, smirking. 

"No, they broke up already," I answered, realizing that he probably knew exactly who I was talking about. If he didn't, he'd put it together soon. I knew he was a natural blond, but even he'd get this one. 

"So you want to be the rebound?" Nick asked. "That can be fun and all, or did you want something kind of permanent? I'm guessing you wanted something serious, so how do you know he doesn't?" 

"See, that's just it," I said, throwing up my hands in frustration. "He acts like he does, sometimes. He throws off these really mixed signals, but every time I go for it, he backs down." 

"Maybe he's just not sure," Nick said, rolling onto his side, presenting himself for full view as he propped up his head with one arm. He had no modesty at all, but he was cute enough not to need it. Why pretend? "Maybe he's still hung up on the other guy, and every time you go for it, he gets panicked, and backs off. Or maybe he's really not interested, Justin." 

I must have looked oddly at him, because he giggled. 

"Yes, Justin, I'm sure there are people somewhere who actually don't want to sleep with you," he said, laughing. "Stupid people, mind you, but they probably do exist. Are you sure he wants you? Maybe you should sit and talk to him about it. Maybe instead of trying to read whatever these signals are he's throwing, you should actually talk them out." 

"That's a good idea, I guess, " I answered. Josh had confessed to pretending I was Jack, but we hadn't talked about anything else, or even about why that had bothered me so much. We hadn't talked about anything, actually, because I'd just walked out the door. 

"You know what else is a good idea?" Nick asked, smiling widely and licking his lips. 

"Nicky, even I have limits," I said, and we both laughed. 

"Actually, I was talking about breakfast," Nick said, sitting up. "We could go get some donuts, and then I could drop you off home. Unless, you know, you want to fuck again?" 

"I think breakfast is a great idea," I said, punching him lightly on the arm in answer to the other suggestion. 

We got up and got dressed, and then stopped at the local donut shop for coffee and donuts. Afterward, Nick drove me home, stopping at the end of my driveway. He put a hand on my door as I went to get out. 

"Justin, last night was fun, " he said, smiling again. "Good luck with your friend and all. While you were sleeping this morning I put my number in your phone, so if you ever want to hang out, tag team some girls, go shopping, have another go at each other, or whatever, just give me a call, ok?" 

"Sure, Nicky," I answered, smiling back. "You're all right." 

"No, actually, I'm a little sore," he answered, giggling. "Bye, Justin." 

"Bye, Nicky, and thanks," I said, waving as he drove away. Funny, Howie had always said Nick was a major asshole. Then again, Howie beat the hell out of me in Lance's kitchen. What kind of judge of character was he? 

The house was quiet when I walked in, no music, no television, nothing. 

"Josh?" I called loudly. No answer. 

I walked through the rooms, noticing how neat and tidy everything was. Josh always put everything in its place, but it looked like he had gone on a house wide cleaning binge, a habit I couldn't help but figure he'd picked up from Jack. Everything gleamed, and it had to have been Josh, because it was the wrong day for my housekeeper to be in. Still, I didn't turn Josh up anywhere, not in the music room, or the living room, or out in the yard or the pool. Finally, I climbed the stairs to his room, but didn't find him there, either. His bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made, and a note lay on one of the pillows. 

"Dear Justin, 

I don't know if I really have the words to say how sorry I am for how badly I've hurt you. You haven't come home tonight, and I guess that's my fault, too. I guess maybe the only thing I'm really good at is driving people I care about away. Justin, you've been nothing but a friend to me. Every time I've turned around, you've been there, holding me, helping me, offering whatever you thought I needed, and I've abused that. Words can't take back what I've done, and I don't think these words will be able to fix it, either. I've decided to go home, where I won't hurt you anymore. I hope we're still friends, Justin, hope we're still best friends. If you need time, take it. If you can forgive me for using you, I'll be here. 

Your friend, 

Joshua" 

I sighed, holding the note, thinking that there were far too many notes flying around among us all the time. Notes from Jack, notes from Josh, notes from Britney. It seemed like I was the only one who didn't leave notes behind me, didn't drop off little scraps of my thoughts for others to pick up and read, but maybe I needed to start. Otherwise, how was anyone going to know what was going on inside my head? Here was Josh, beating himself up over taking advantage of me, not realizing that I'd been wanting him to the entire time he was here. What Nick and I had talked about was right. I needed to sit down with Josh, and just put everything on the table, and the two of us would work from there. I needed to be up front, and just stop playing so many fucking games. 

I showered quickly, getting dressed, and then drove over to Josh's house. His Jag was out of the garage, parked in the driveway, which was unusual for him, but I realized that he must have moved it so that he could put all of Jack's boxes in the garage. He must have carried them all, shoving them along by himself, and I could only imagine what that would have done to him. He was probably upstairs huddled in a little ball crying somewhere. Or, judging by the note on the door, maybe not. 

"I'm in the hot tub. Come on back." 

I wondered why he was expecting me, since I hadn't called, but maybe he really did know me that well. I unlocked the front door (we all had keys to each other's houses) and walked upstairs first, figuring that I needed a suit for the tub, and Josh wouldn't mind if I borrow a pair of trunks. He must have a pair, somewhere, even though all he tended to wear was that little tiny black speedo that he looked so hot in. He claimed he wore it for comfort, but he knew what it did for him. It's the reason why I usually wore one, too. Going quickly through his dresser, since I knew where everything was, I changed into a pair of trunks, but paused when I looked at the dresser top. Josh's ring and Jack's ring sat side by side. I felt an urge to push them to the floor, to hide them in my pocket, but remembered that this was Josh's house, not mine. 

I walked downstairs, stepping out onto the back patio. Josh's back was to me, or rather the back of his head, since that's all that was sticking out of the water. I walked slowly around and stood opposite him, watching him lay there with his eyes closed. 

"Hey," I said, squatting down by the water. Josh's eyes popped open, surprised. 

"Justin!" he blurted, staring at me. "What are you doing here?" 

"I was kind of hoping we could talk," I said. "I borrowed a suit from you. Mind if I get in?" 

"Go ahead," Josh said, swallowing nervously. 

I slid into the hot tub on the opposite side from him, not wanting to be too close, watching him watch me. Josh looked nervous, and a little confused, and something else, too, maybe a little scared. I smiled, to show him I wasn't mad, and waited to see which of us would speak first. He didn't say anything, just swallowed, and kept staring at me, so I decided I should start, staring across the tub at his wide blue eyes, everything but our heads below the water. 

"I was surprised when I got home today, and you weren't there," I began. "I guess I should have called last night to tell you I was coming back." 

"Justin, I'm sorry," Josh began, looking pained. "I'm so sorry for all of this, sorry for dumping on you, sorry for taking advantage of you, sorry for everything. I just figured it was best if I left, so that I wouldn't hurt you anymore." 

"I wish you hadn't left," I said, and his eyebrows went up, surprised. "Josh, I need to tell you some stuff, need to be honest with you, and then, when I'm done, we can decide what else we're going to do, ok?" 

"OK," he answered, steeling himself. "It's ok if you want to yell." 

I realized he thought I was still mad at him, and that he was expecting for whatever I had to say to be something bad, something angry. 

"Josh, I love you," I said, pausing to let it sink in. "You're my best friend, and you have been since the day we met. The day I started on the Club, when no one else would talk to me 'cause I was the new kid, you're the one who came and sat with me. All those crushes I had on all those girls, and all those other stupid kid things, you're always the one I turned to, and you always turned to me. We were always there for each other, even after, when the show was over and I went home and you went to Nashville, we still talked to each other all the time, and we were still always best friends." 

Josh waited, but looked thoughtful. Good. Maybe something I was saying would reach him. Maybe he'd see how much I really did care about him. 

"Like I said, we were always there for each other, but then something happened," I said, my hands clenched together out of sight under the water, so he wouldn't be able to see how nervous I was. Being honest was good, and all of this needed to be let out, but it was hard, and I was afraid, more than anything, of what he would say when I was done. "I know now that what happened is that you met Jack, and started questioning yourself, and that's when you started to have feelings for me beyond just friendship. That's when the first wall went up between us, Josh, when you started feeling something and didn't share it with me. And you were right, too. I could tell all along that you liked me that way, could tell that you felt something for me, but there's some stuff I never told you, either. I wanted to tell you that day at your parents' house, that day at the lake, but you were already so angry, so upset, that I didn't want to make it worse." 

I swallowed, feeling my heart racing. This was the bad part, the part I had admitted to myself, the part that might hurt him. Hurting Josh was the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I didn't know if I could ever make him believe that. 

"What I never told you is that I started to feel that way toward you, too," I said, hearing him inhale sharply. He was watching me with rapt attention. "We started spending all that time together, and sometimes, when I looked at you, when I saw the way you looked at me when you thought I didn't notice, I felt something. At the same time, though, I was getting a lot closer to Brit, too, and I felt the same things for her. I started to feel torn, started to feel a little scared, and I didn't want to think too much about what I felt toward you. I thought maybe it was something all guy friends had, and that I was just making it dirty somehow, and then there was Brit, too, and I never wanted to hurt her or you, and finally I realized that I had to face my feelings, had to make a choice, and I chose Brit. I was afraid that if I told you I thought I loved you that it would ruin our friendship, and I decided that I'd rather have you as a friend than not at all." 

"Justin, why didn't you ever say anything?" Josh asked quietly. He didn't seem upset, just surprised. "All that time, and you never said anything." 

"Neither did you," I pointed out, but not in a nasty, accusatory tone. "You never said anything to me, so I never knew you felt that way, too, because we were both afraid. And because I was afraid, I turned to Britney, because she was there, and she was ok, and safe, and I loved her, too. And since I turned to Brit, you went to Jack, and that's how we ended up where we are now. You and Jack fell in love, but you know what it was like with Brit and I. We love each other as friends, but that thing you guys had, that ying yang you complete the other half of me love, we never had that. Everything else I told you is true, though, everything I told you and Jack. I never thought about sex with another guy until I saw you two, and even then I probably wouldn't have thought about it if it was anyone else. But it wasn't anyone else, Josh. It was you, and I love you as my friend, as my brother, but there's always been that other feeling underneath, that other kind of love that I never acted on. After that night when we slept together, I realized that I was coming in between you two, and you seemed so happy with him that I didn't want to do that, didn't want to be the one who hurt you, so I backed off." 

Josh waited for me to continue, and I realized that he was as caught up in hearing the story as I was in telling it. The words were coming faster now, easier, as if somewhere inside me there was a faucet and I had just reached in and turned it on. 

"And then there was that other stuff, when everyone was mad at me, after I hurt Lance," I continued, thinking back to those long weeks, my eyes watering. "Everyone shut me out, everyone turned away from me. I already felt guilty, already wanted to make it right, but no one would let me. I realized that I'd driven all of my friends away, and I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to reach anyone. And then there was that day when Jack invited me to lunch with everyone, and once he did, you all started to come back. It wasn't the same, and with Lance, and Joey a little, it's still not. There's still a little distrust, a little unsureness, but that's something I have to live with, because of what I've done. As hard as all of that was, though, I had you again at the end of it. I had my friend back, and you had Jack, and I had Brit, and everything wasn't perfect, but it was ok. It all felt normal again, like none of the bad stuff had happened." 

I paused again, knowing the next part would be hard for him, but Josh just waited for me to continue, his wet hair pushed back from his tan forehead, his eyes wide and encouraging. 

"And then Jack left," I said, watching as Josh looked down. "Jack left, and everything changed. You needed someone to hold you, someone to be there for you, and you reached out to me, because I'm your best friend and you're mine. I'm not saying it like you were a burden, because you could never be that. You needed someone, and I was there for you, but I kept wishing I could do more, be more, and I realized something else, too. I realized that even though I put those other feelings away, I still had them. I might have buried them, but they were still there, and these past two weeks they've all come back to me, and everything has been different. The last time I had these feelings for you, I didn't act on them, didn't do anything, because I was afraid. I wasn't sure of myself, and I wasn't sure of what I felt, so I ran away, but I don't want to run away this time, Josh." 

"Justin?" Josh asked quietly, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of the hot tub running. "Justin, what are you trying to say?" 

"I guess, Josh, what I'm trying to say is that I know who I am now," I said, shrugging. "I'm not gay, but I'm not straight, and I'm ok with it. I fall in love with a person, not with their equipment, and right now the person that I've fallen in love with, the person I want to be with, and be there for, is you. I still love you as a friend, as the best friend I ever had, but I think I also love you, Josh. That's what I feel, and that's what I know. I love you. The past two weeks, since Jack has been gone, I've been here for you, but every time you've reached out for me, I've hoped it was because you still wanted me, too. I think I might have lied to myself a little, convinced myself that I saw something in your eyes that maybe wasn't there, because I wanted to see it. The other night, when you came to my room, I thought it was for me, because you wanted me, and when you told me yesterday that it wasn't, I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to feel. I thought that maybe everything I'd learned this summer, everything I've learned since what I did to Lance, was wrong, that there was no point to it. I thought about being the way I used to be, and making sure nothing could ever hurt me again, but I realized that I can't be that person anymore. I don't care that you used me, because I love you, and I'd give anything just to be with you, no matter what the circumstances are." 

I looked up again, finally, to see Josh staring at me, wide-eyed. His mouth had dropped open a little, and I waited to see what he would say, but he just seemed surprised, and lost in his own thoughts. 

"Josh?" I asked, confused. "Josh, I just told you I love you, and I want to be with you. Do you think, maybe, could you want to be with me?" 

Josh swallowed, and I saw his eyes water. His face twisted, but these weren't happy tears. 

"Justin, I don't want to hurt you," he began, and I knew that he was about to. I felt my stomach dropping, felt the hot tub spinning, and knew that my whole world was about to come crashing down. "Justin, what you just said, I'm not even sure what to say. I never knew any of that, never knew what any of this meant to you. You said there was a wall between us, and there was. I never knew you felt that way, and I don't know how different things would have been if I had. Justin, what you just said, that you love me, means more to me than anything, means the world to me right now, but I can't be with you, Justin. I can't." 

"But why?" I asked, confused, trying not to cry. Why didn't Josh want me? "Josh, I love you. I didn't know it before, but I know it now. I can be here for you, I can be everything for you. Why?" 

"Because there's something you can't be for me, Justin," Josh said, and I could see by his face that he was trying not to cry as well. He slid across the hot tub and settled in beside me. Under the water I felt him reach for my hand, and I let him take it as I waited for him to explain. "Justin, you can't be Jack for me. I love you, too, Justin. You're my best friend, and once I would have given anything, anything in the world, to hear you say what you just did, but I can't love you the way you want to be, the way you deserve to be. I still love Jack, even though he hurt me, even though I can't even think about him without wanting to cry, without feeling like I just swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. I can't love you back right now, not the way you want, because I don't think I can love anyone that way right now, and I don't want to hurt you. If I told you right now that we could be together, that it would work out, and that I loved you that way, it would be a lie, Justin. It wouldn't be fair to you, and it wouldn't be fair to myself. Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Justin?" 

I thought about it, feeling how warm Josh's hand was, and how tightly he was gripping mine. I thought about what I wanted, what I needed, and what would be best for us both. I looked into Josh's face, and saw how concerned he was, how sad he looked at having to tell me this, and I realized he wouldn't say it if there were any other way things could be, and that even though he was hurting me a little now, and himself, too, he was doing it to keep us both from being hurt even more later. I realized that he was still my best friend, and that I still loved him, but that I loved him enough not to push. 

"Yeah, um, I guess I do," I said finally, staring at him. "I know you don't love me like that, right now, Josh, but do you think maybe someday you could?" 

"Maybe," Josh answered, smiling. "Are we still friends?" 

"Best friends," I answered, reaching out for him. 

We wrapped our arms around each other, holding tightly in the bubbling hot tub, our bodies pressed against each other, chests together. I felt Josh's hands clasping my back as my own slid up toward his shoulders, and I thought maybe, for now, it was enough. Letting go, I pulled back, smiling at Josh, and fell into his blue eyes again as he stared at me. They were wide, and caring, and kind, and I realized just before his lips settled onto mine that they were getting closer. Josh kissed me, but it wasn't one of those deeply probing Josh kisses, no tongue pushing into my mouth. Instead it was soft, and light, and then he did it again. 

"Oh, shit," I heard from behind me. Both of us jumped, pulling away, as I turned to see Chris blushing and stepping backward away from the hot tub. That's who the note on the front door had been for, I thought. "Sorry guys!" 

"Chris, wait," Josh said, even as I said, "It's not what it looked like." 

Chris turned back to us, grinning, and walked over to squat down by the hot tub. Josh and I were still holding hands under the water, although both of us were blushing guiltily. 

"Justin, it looked kind of like you two were having a private moment in the hot tub, and I didn't want to interrupt," he said, pulling out his cigarettes. "If it wasn't that, do you feel like telling me what it was, then?" 

"Actually, it was exactly what it looked like," Josh said, squeezing my hand. He turned back to Chris. "Justin and I were having a private moment." 

"Hey, don't jump on me," Chris said, holding up his hands. "I'm only here because you called me, although I hope it wasn't to come over and watch, because, you know, I'm not into that." 

"Why'd you call Chris?" I asked Josh, ignoring Chris's playful taunting. 

"I was upset because of you, and I was planning to talk to him about it," Josh answered, shrugging. He hugged me again, surprising me a little. Maybe he couldn't love me completely, but we were well on our way. "And then you showed up instead." 

"And apparently you two worked everything out without needing any help from me," Chris said, shaking his head. "Wonders will never cease. So, being that I'm already here, maybe the two of you could climb out and get dressed, and we could do a late lunch or catch a movie or something?" 

"Sure," we both answered. We pulled ourselves out of the hot tub, and I followed Josh to his room, since my clothes were there, too. He handed me a towel, and we both began to dry off, facing each other. "Josh, what was that in the tub?" 

"Well, Justin, I told you I can't love you, not fully, not yet," he answered. "But is it ok if, you know, I love you as much as I can? I don't want to hurt you, Justin." 

"No, it's ok," I said, hugging him. "As much as you can, as much as you want to, it's enough." 

And it was. I stayed over at Josh's that night, and we slept in the same bed, spooned against each other, but we didn't have sex. Over the days that followed, we continued to spend almost every day together, to spend our time near each other, and we continued to enjoy the bond, the closeness, that we both felt. We had always been physically demonstrative friends, had always been huggers and handholders, and we kept doing it, but now, sometimes, we hugged tighter, for different reasons, and now, sometimes, we kissed. It was always at Josh's pace, always when he reached out for me. He still had a lot of pain inside, still felt a lot of hurt sometimes, but we were working through it, and he was helping me through mine, too. Brit still wouldn't talk to me, and wouldn't even look at me the one time we saw her, and that hurt, but Josh was there. 

As the days passed, they turned into a week, and then another week. Sometimes we stayed at Josh's house, and sometimes we stayed at mine. We hung out with the guys, too, and I think they could tell that something was going on, but no one asked, and no one seemed to disapprove. Things between Howie and I were still a little tense, but he seemed to tolerate me, at least for Lance's sake. I tried to give him some distance, while still showing him that I was sorry, but didn't know how well I did. Joey came back from New York, and we started to do the things we always did, like photo shoots, publicity, group interviews, and public appearances. Sometimes Josh and I, when we were hugging or even kissing, felt it going somewhere else, felt our bodies responding in ways that maybe we weren't ready for, but we always stopped, never crossing that line again, even if we both wanted to. We were so afraid of pushing each other, of crossing a line before we were ready, and when we talked it out, each time, we agreed that it was best that we wait until we were both sure. Until then, until we could commit to each other without any pain, or guilt, we agreed that we shouldn't take that step. I'm not saying it was easy, because sometimes I was horny as hell, and sometimes I could feel Josh against me in the night, in bed, but we made it through. 

And then, one morning, about two months after Jack had left him, two months during which Josh and I had grown closer and closer, two months during which I realized that I loved Josh completely, even more deeply than I thought I had before, the bottom dropped out of my world again. Josh and I were in the kitchen, making breakfast. I was standing at the stove, frying some eggs, when he came up behind me, running his hands up to my shoulders as he leaned over and kissed my cheek. Neither one of us had showered yet, and we were both just bumming around the house in our pajamas. 

"Morning," Josh purred, staring down over my shoulder at the eggs. 

"Hey sleepy," I answered, grinning. "Hungry?" 

"For the eggs, or for you?" he asked, giggling. 

"Whichever the gentleman would prefer," I answered. "It doesn't have to be a choice." 

We both chuckled, and then I heard the doorbell ringing. Josh and I glanced at each other as it kept ringing, as whoever was outside kept hitting the bell over and over. 

"What the hell?" I asked, taking the pan off the burner. 

"We should get that," Josh said, and we walked hand in hand to the door. I glanced out the peephole and saw Chris, leaning on the doorbell with his finger punching the button in. I pulled open the door, and Josh and I stared at him as he glanced back and forth between us. Josh shook his head. "This better be good." 

"Oh my God," Chris said, his jaw hanging open. "You guys don't know." 

"Don't know what?" I asked, feeling my heart flutter. Chris looked like he had just jumped out of bed and driven over here. He had lipstick smeared on his neck. Something must be wrong. "Chris?" 

"Come on," he said, grabbing both our arms. Chris pulled us quickly through my house to the living room, and grabbed my remote. 

"Chris? What's wrong?" Josh asked, reaching for my hand. 

"Look," Chris said, pointing at the screen. 

Jack was on the screen, but not as we remembered him. He was pale, and skinny, so skinny, like a cancer patient, and had a beard and stringy, dirty hair. He looked confused, and I saw that he was being helped into an ambulance, and there were police cars, and cops. Chris's private investigator had never found a trace of Jack, not in Los Angeles or Seattle. What was going on? Josh's hand squeezed mine convulsively, grinding my fingers together, as he went sheet white, staring at the television. Chris turned the sound up, watching us and watching the news. 

"In a story just breaking, Jack Springer, who entered the public eye some months ago as the then-boyfriend of Nsync member JC Chasez, is shown here being taken to the hospital just after dawn this morning. While the full story is not yet known, sources state that Springer was allegedly kidnapped some two months ago, and has been held in captivity since then before breaking free and overpowering his abductor. Springer has been taken to Cedars Sinai Medical Center, but there is no word on his condition or that of his alleged kidnapper." 

We stared at the screen, trying to put it together, trying to understand. Jack hadn't left Josh, hadn't run away, hadn't cast him aside. Jack had been in trouble, like Chris said, and we hadn't looked for him, didn't try to help him. Josh turned to me, his eyes huge and watering, floating in his chalky face. 

"Justin?" he asked quietly. "Justin, what, what do I do?" 

I looked at Josh, the man I loved, and felt my heart break. 

"Go upstairs and get a bag together," I said, feeling knives twist into my stomach. It was such a simple question, and I had to give him a simple answer. "It's Jack. You have to go get him. I'll be, I'll be up in a second, ok?" 

Josh nodded. He reached out to me, running his hand down the side of my face. He looked like he wanted to say something, I don't know what, but then he turned away, and ran for the stairs. I watched him go, and as soon as he was gone from the room I turned, and felt Chris's arms around me as my knees buckled, and my eyes flooded with burning, silent tears. I couldn't let Josh see me like this, couldn't let him know my heart was breaking. If you love someone, sometimes you have to let them go, because you have to do what's best for them, not what's best for you. I couldn't keep Josh from the best thing that had ever happened to him, couldn't throw him throw it away, not for me. 

Chris back up a little, until we were both on the couch, and he held me tightly to him as I pressed my face against his chest, screaming into it, muffling myself as I felt Chris's heart beating beneath. I couldn't let Josh hear me, but I couldn't hold it in. Chris spoke, and I realized from his voice that he was crying, too. 

"Justin, I'm sorry it's like this," he said. "I know this hurts you, but Justin, that was the most unselfish thing I've ever seen anyone do, ever." 

"Chris, it hurts," I whimpered, knowing this wouldn't go away, knowing I'd never get over this. "It hurts." 

"I know, Justin," Chris said, still holding me. "I know." 

---

CHAPTER 67

---

JACK'S POV: 

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. 

---

CHAPTER 68

---

JACK'S POV: 

"Just fill out the postcard, Jack," he cajoled. "Just fill out the postcard, and I'll give you something to eat." 

"Fuck you," I said, walking away from the button again. 

I went to the sink and took another drink, bending over, fitting my mouth around the bottom of the faucet. The water was good, and it was filling, but it wasn't enough. My belly was sloshing every time I moved, and I knew that we wouldn't be able to play this game much longer. I wasn't going to be able to go without eating for another day, not with the meals that I was already missing. I glared at the speaker plate, wondering if I should talk to Captor again. I had begun calling him that yesterday, only in my head, because I just needed to assign a name of some sort to him. 

We were on our third day of playing this game, or at least I thought it was. I'd gone to sleep three times, at any rate. After the first meal of sandwiches I had, I lay on the mattress for a while, staring at nothing again, trying to think of something to do. He didn't turn the music back on, and I didn't want to ask for it, because I didn't want to ask for anything. There weren't any cracks in the walls to count, as everything was freshly painted over, and there weren't any marks on the ceiling. The floor was plain concrete, and was more or less featureless. After a while I began to count the holes in the speaker grate, the little black circles from which music, or the disguised voice, would come. Eventually my eyes drifted closed, but just as I fell asleep I heard his voice again. 

"He's not coming for you, Jack," the voice said, startling me awake. "He's not going to come save you, or find you. You're all alone." 

I stared up at the camera, wondering if I should give him the finger again. Instead I got up, went to the sink, and brushed my teeth. When I was finished, I felt the lump on my forehead again, wishing I had a mirror, but then I decided that I really didn't want to see how bad it was. Walking back to the mattress, I stripped down to my undershirt and boxers, folding my clothes neatly and setting them down in the corner. I walked over to the speaker and pushed the button. 

"Thanks for waking me," I said brightly. "I forgot to brush my teeth. I'm going to sleep now, so could we maybe do something about the light?" 

I didn't really know if it was night or not, because I had no windows, but I knew I was tired, and needed rest. That seemed as good a reason as any to go to sleep. 

"No," he answered simply. I guessed he wanted the lights on so he could keep watching. Clearly the camera didn't have infrared. Was that a clue? It didn't have sound, either, or at least didn't seem to. I realized that I had no idea how much any of that would cost, so that really wasn't a clue that would help me. 

"And for the record, Josh knows I wouldn't leave him," I said. I should have stayed quiet, but I was pissed off. "Whatever little note you left him, he's going to see through it eventually. He loves me, and he knows I love him. He'll come for me." 

"No, he won't," the voice insisted. "Good night, Jack." 

I walked away from the speaker and lay on the mattress, closing my eyes again, picturing Josh, trying to imagine that he was here with me. I reached out, throwing my arm across the empty mattress, and tried to feel his warmth, feel his shoulder beneath my hand. I tried to smell his cologne, and the natural smell of Josh that was always underneath, the two of them mixed together with soap and deodorant and the thousand other smells that make up a person, blending together into the familiar scent that I was used to sharing a bed with. I tried to imagine the way Josh's skin felt, the warm velvet softness, the feeling of his muscles sliding around underneath. I tried to imagine that my hand was on his chest, tried to feel the firm bunching of his pec, his heart beating strong underneath as the rise and fall of his breathing pressed his skin to my hand. 

Thinking of Josh, I fell asleep. 

When I woke up, I was hungry. I hadn't eaten for the three days that I had been sleeping, and then had only been given two sandwiches which barely filled me. I realized that he must have drugged me again during that time, must have snuck in to administer additional doses of whatever he'd given me. I didn't know a lot about chloroform, but years of watching soap operas had led me to believe that it wore off after a space of hours, not days. He must have been watching me on the video camera, waiting to see if I began to stir, before sneaking in to drug me again. It couldn't be a coincidence that he stopped drugging me on the same day that Josh left, so why would he do it? Maybe it was someone that Josh would also suspect. Maybe it was someone who thought Josh, or Justin, or the police, might come here, and he wanted me unconscious so that I couldn't make noise or attract attention to the basement. I was getting good at this, and figured that maybe all those years of reading suspense and detective novels might pay off after all. 

I got off of the mattress and stripped off my undershirt, deciding to try to wash myself. I could have taken off my boxers, too, but didn't feel like giving whoever this was watching me a free show. I didn't feel like giving them that last little bit of my dignity. Washing myself carefully with the soap and washcloth, trying not to get too wet since he didn't give me a towel, I figured I'd have to air dry. I ran my hand over my face after I washed it, wishing I had a razor, and was debating trying to wash my hair with the soap when I heard something slide through the flap under the door. Turning around, I saw another manila envelope. I picked it up, and then walked over to the button panel. 

"Good morning," I said, opening the envelope. Inside was a blank postcard from Seattle. I glanced at it and shrugged. Josh and I had never been to Seattle, so I didn't see how this was supposed to taunt me. "Can I have some breakfast?" 

"Fill out that postcard first," he answered. 

"Fill it out?" I asked, wondering what new game this was. "Fill it out with what?" 

"Write a note to JC," the voice answered. "Write him a note that you're happy without him, and hope he is, too." 

"Fuck you," I said simply, walking away, dropping the postcard on the floor. 

"Don't walk away so quickly, Jack," the voice said. "We need to talk about this." 

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, turning back and holding the button down. "I'm not filling out that card." 

I couldn't fill out a postcard that said that. It would crush Josh, especially if it came in my own handwriting. If he was even starting to think that I hadn't left him, that this was all a huge mistake, this postcard would change his mind, would push him away. This postcard would seal me in this basement, would practically guarantee that Josh gave up on me. One note he might be able to ignore, to think his way past, but two? No way was I filling this out. 

"Do you want to eat?" the voice asked. "Fill out that postcard." 

"I guess I'm not that hungry, " I said, turning away. 

"You will be," he promised, as I sat on the mattress. 

And so the game began, the waiting game. Whenever I felt hungry, I got up and drank more water. To fill my time, I washed my hair in the sink after all, although it was a pain in the ass and didn't turn out well, since I couldn't get my head under the faucet. My hair still felt stringy when I was done, and I didn't have a comb. To fill the rest of my time, I paced the room, counting the steps, trying to keep myself from going insane. I've always been a person who needed something to do, who needed something to occupy my time. Being in here was almost like being in a sensory deprivation tank. 

After an unknown length of time, during which I'd gotten bored and sat on the mattress again, counting the holes in the speaker grate, music began to pour out of the speaker again, this time "Celebrity". I sat and listened to it, rocking back and forth a little, mouthing the words, which I knew by heart. I knew every song, every beat, every breath recorded on the album. I'd seen it in concert, seen it on television, heard it on the radio, and had parts of it sung to me in the shower. I could close my eyes and see them dancing, running through all the steps, knowing which part Lance would trip on, where Joey would be tired, and where Josh would go back and dance by the band for a minute or two. If this was supposed to bother me, it wasn't. Instead, it was a comfort. 

The album was on its third cycle through when it cut off. 

"Ready to fill out that postcard now?" he asked. 

I walked over to the speaker. 

"No," I answered. 

"I guess you're not hungry enough, then," he said. 

"I guess not," I said, walking away from the speaker. 

"You know, Jack, this means nothing," he said. "It doesn't matter if you fill out the card or not. JC isn't coming for you." 

I ignored him, got another drink from the sink, and went back to my mattress. I might have to pee fifty times, but I wouldn't break. I would not fill out that card. He didn't put any music on after that, leaving me in silence for a while. After a while I fell asleep again, but he was determined not to let me enjoy it. I was fully asleep, sprawled out on my mattress, when music from the band's first album began blasting out of the speaker, loud enough to wake me. I jumped up, looking around, and heard laughter from the speaker. 

"Oh, sorry Jack. Were you sleeping?" he asked. "Maybe you should get up and fill out that postcard." 

"Maybe you should kiss my ass," I muttered, rolling over to give the camera the finger again. 

"That's not a good answer, Jack," he said. "Aren't you hungry? Don't you want something to eat?" 

I heard crunching, and realized he was chewing something into the microphone. My stomach clenched, and my mouth filled with saliva, but I willed myself not to get up off of the mattress. I would not break. 

"He's not coming for you, Jack," he said again. "He's never coming. Just fill out the postcard." 

I shook my head, and eventually fell back to sleep. 

On the second day I woke up and bathed in the sink again, skipping the hair as it was more trouble than it was worth. The postcard was still there, but during the night he had also pushed a pen through the flap. I stared down at it, and thought about signing the postcard, but I wasn't hungry enough yet. He didn't talk to me at all that day, and didn't play any music, either. I had no distractions, nothing to take my mind off of what was going on, just the postcard, the pen, and my hunger. I paced all day, almost continuously, until my feet were sore. Socks on concrete didn't really have a lot of padding, so eventually I had to go sit for a while. Walking back to the mattress, I thumbed my necklace, and thought about the postcard. 

On the third day, I woke up in pain. I wasn't having full out, doubled over in pain cramps, but I was hungry. I felt my stomach knotting, demanding something besides water, and I tried to think about something else, but all my brain would do was tally up the food I wasn't getting. I had been taken from the club, and drugged for two full days, during which I had not eaten. Waking on the third day, I had eaten two sandwiches, but had now gone without food for what I guessed was now my third day since then. I wouldn't be able to keep going like this. Already I felt listless, and dizzy. I realized dimly that I was going to break. I had to, or I was going to die. I might actually die of starvation in someone's basement, in the richest country in the world. 

I needed to distract myself, needed to not think about the damn postcard. I didn't want to break, didn't even want to think about it, even though I was starting to realized I would have to. I walked over and pressed the button. 

"Hello?" I asked, waiting. There was no response, so I pushed it again. "Hello?" 

What if he'd gone somewhere? What if he wasn't anywhere in the house? I might break down right now, and fill out the damn postcard, and he wouldn't be here to feed me. I realized then how completely at his mercy I was. I was helpless, like a fish in a bowl. If something happened to him, if he went to the grocery store and got hit by a bus on the way, I would die here. If the house caught on fire, I would burn to death in the basement. I would die, and I would never find my way back to Josh. What we had would just be over, gone, just like that. But it would be if I filled out that card, too. That postcard would be a complete betrayal of everything Josh and I had. If I filled it out, I would be sealing the fate of mine and Josh's relationship, and I would also be choosing myself over Josh. Then again, if I was choosing to live, to get back to Josh someday, to be here when Josh came to get me, I thought he might understand. 

By the time he came back from wherever he'd gone, and began taunting me to fill out the postcard again, I had passed my moment of weakness, and was back to drinking water and dreaming that I'd be able to make it. I kept swearing, kept being angry, but in my heart I knew it wouldn't last. I needed to eat, and that was the bottom line. I pressed the button again, feeling the water sloshing around inside of me, and wondering how it could feel so liquid, but so much like a lead ball in my gut at the same time. 

"What do you want on the postcard?" I asked quietly. 

"What was that, Jack?" he asked, enjoying his triumph. "You're so quiet I didn't catch it." 

"What do you want me to write on the postcard?" I asked, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. I wasn't faking it this time. I didn't want to fill out this card, didn't want to let him mail this knowing that it would hurt Josh, that he would be using me to hurt Josh, but I had to do it. He'd taken all of my choices away. 

"How about just that you're happy, and you hope he's happy, too?" he asked. "Oh, and don't forget to address it, too." 

"Fuck you!" I said, not holding to button down for it. I pounded the wall with my fist, almost sobbing now. I'd be able to cry for a really long time with all the water I'd had. Sitting down, wiping at my eyes with one hand while I wrote with the other, I filled out the postcard, barely able to read it because of the tears in my eyes, and pushed it under the door. I whispered to myself, leaning on the wall with my head down, trying to get my tears under control. "I'm sorry, Josh. I'm so, so sorry." 

Nothing happened, so I waited. Finally I hit the button again. "Hello?" 

"Yes, Jack?" he answered. 

"I'm hungry," I snapped, and then realized that maybe I needed to be nice. I didn't want to be, didn't even want to talk to him, but I needed to eat. "Could I please have some food now?" 

"I don't know if I should still feed you," he said speculatively. "You were a little difficult." 

"You promised," I reminded him, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. 

"One question first," he said. "What are you going to do if I don't feed you? What are you going to do if I stop feeding you at all, and then just wall you up in there when you starve? What are you going to do then?" 

"I guess I'll die," I said simply. I might be able to answer him like it was nothing, but inside I had gone cold again. What if he did stop feeding me? "I'll die, but Josh and I will be together someday." 

"You wish," he said. 

Another plate of sandwiches, three this time, slid through the flap. I scooped it up, running over to my mattress with them, sitting Indian style with the plate cradled in my crossed legs. I ate the first sandwich so quickly that it seemed as if I didn't even chew it, and I quickly followed it with the second. By the time I got to the third, I remembered something I'd read somewhere about how people who had been starved couldn't eat a lot right away, or they'd throw it up, and I forced myself to slow down, to chew carefully. It was peanut butter and jelly, again, and I thought it tasted a little odd, but I was too hungry to give it much thought. I should have, though. 

I finished the last sandwich and got up to brush my teeth. As I stood at the sink, rinsing out my mouth, I realized that I felt light headed. I turned back to the mattress, and stumbled as I walked over. By the time I reached it, my head was nodding, and I could barely keep my eyes open. The room swam before me, and I heard his voice, thick and sludgy, oozing from the speaker plate. 

"Feeling a little sleepy, Jack?" he asked, laughing. The sandwiches were drugged. I tried to lift myself off of the mattress, to reach out for the speaker panel, not sure of what I was going to say, but couldn't move. The last thing I heard before my eyes slid closed again was more of his taunting. "JC isn't coming for you, Jack. You're all mine." 

I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, my mouth feeling cottony, I saw another sandwich waiting for me, sitting on another manila folder. I went pee, feeling how stiff my body was from all these nights spent sleeping almost on the floor, and then walked over and picked up the sandwich and the folder. I sniffed at the sandwich, wondering if I should eat it, but then figured I didn't have anything important to stay awake for anyway. If this one happened to be drugged, too, maybe I should just be happy for the sleep, since it was a pain in the ass falling asleep with that damn light on all the time. I ate the sandwich slowly, wondering if I was allowed to request anything besides peanut butter and jelly. After eating, I brushed my teeth, trying to give myself enough activities to fill my time, since I never knew if I was getting music today or not. 

Thumbing my necklace, trying to draw strength from it and from Josh, trying to feel his love for me, I carefully opened the folder, knowing nothing good could be inside. There was a stack of photocopies in there this time, rather than snapshots or a postcard. I carefully pulled them out, flipping through, and saw that they were stories about Josh and I, stories about us breaking up. I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as I read them, carefully going through each one, trying to imagine what Josh was feeling. No one had actually talked to him, and he was described as being "in seclusion", but he had released a statement. I didn't know if it was Josh's phrasing, or if their manager or the publicity department had cleaned it up a little, but it said very simply that Josh and I were no longer together, and he was unsure of my current whereabouts. I knew that Captor had left a note from me, knew that he had left my ring with it, but I had hoped that Josh would see through that, that the other guys would see that this was completely beyond anything that I'd do. 

Now it looked like maybe Josh wouldn't be coming for me after all. 

I could hope that he would snap out of it, that he would realize this was all wrong, and then remembered the postcard. If he was doubting any of this, trying to think any of this through again, that card would seal my fate. He would get that, and it would completely reinforce the first letter. I knew Josh, knew how he thought and how he would feel, and when he saw that any hope inside him would die. Any resolve he was building to come find me would crumble. I tried to tell myself that I'd had no choice, that I had to fill the card out, but another voice inside me whispered that I had thrown everything away for three sandwiches. 

"No, it's not like that," I said, aware that I was talking to myself, but just needing to hear something, anything, in this little white cell. I kept running my thumb over the medallion of my necklace. "I had to fill that card out. I didn't have a choice." 

Nothing answered me, of course. 

"Josh will come for me. He will," I said, but even to me the words sounded hollow. 

I lay on the bed, crying for a while, just holding onto my pillow and sobbing, as I realized that Josh thought I would hurt him like this. Somehow, Josh really believed that I would just pack up and go. I loved him, more than anything, but somewhere out in the world, out beyond the walls of this room, Josh thought that I was gone, that I was done with him. Somewhere Josh was trying to convince himself not to love me. Outside, I was losing him, and I realized that if I let myself think that, if I let myself believe that he was lost to me, that I would lose myself, too. What point would there be in getting out of here? What point would there be in staying strong? I couldn't think this way. Josh would come for me, he had to. Love would conquer all. I just had to hold out. I squeezed my necklace tightly between my thumb and forefinger, holding onto it, onto Josh's love, like a lifeline. 

"Josh will come for me," I whispered. 

I wiped my eyes and went back to looking at the articles. There might be something in them I had missed, some clue that might help me. Remembering how he had demanded the pictures back, I realized that I might not have a lot of time with these, and that I needed to look them over now and get as much as I could out of them, before they were gone. A lot of them offered rehashes of my relationship with Josh, and quotes from our interviews, but that wasn't really what I was looking for. I skimmed the serious articles to see who they talked to, to see if any member of management was mentioned by name. I didn't know what this would tell me, if anything, but I scanned them all looking for mention of Stan. Nothing popped up. Turning away from the serious articles, I began to look through the gossip columns, looking for that one familiar face that I knew had to be here. At last, there he was. 

Basil's column was rather lengthy, detailing visits to hospitals and police stations. My heart surged when I realized that Josh and Justin had been looking for me, that they were trying to find me, at least for a few days. Maybe they had seen through this after all. Those hopes were dashed just as quickly, though, when I realized that they had flown home anyway. The note with my ring must have come to them after they did all this. Maybe he had panicked, seeing that they weren't giving up, and then decided to send it. The idea made a weird kind of sense. The note wouldn't be in my handwriting, because he wouldn't have time to wake me and then starve me into writing it, and I hoped Josh would see that, too. Basil's column wasn't the only one that had the details of all their visits, though, so I couldn't use that as proof that my captor was him. I needed more. 

I spent the day in silence, reading the folder over and over, and the next morning, Captor demanded it back, in exchange for food. Rather than argue, I just slid it through, and was rewarded with another sandwich. I was so hungry, since I hadn't eaten since the one sandwich the day before, that I ate it quickly, realizing only halfway through that it was drugged again. I finished it quickly, and settled in on the mattress for a nice, long drug induced coma. I could have stopped eating, but figured I needed food more than I needed to be awake. 

I lost track of a lot of days that way. I would wake up, and some days he'd push another article through the door with my sandwich, if he gave me a sandwich. Some days he didn't feed me at all, and when he finally did push a sandwich through the flap, it was always just one or two, never enough to fill me. Some days he would play music all day again, or wait until I was asleep and start blasting it, disrupting my rest. It was hard to keep track of days and nights, and there was nothing in here to mark the walls with, so I began to slowly lose track of time. I tried to guess based on my beard growing in, but I'd never had one before, and didn't know how fast it would or should grow. I also began to lose a lot of weight, which was worrying me. I was only eating once a day, more or less, and only a sandwich at that. I was drinking a lot of water, but it wasn't enough to keep going, and there were the days when I didn't get to eat because he apparently just randomly felt like drugging me. 

I tired to figure out a pattern to the drugging, tried to anticipate it, but there didn't seem to be one. One day I woke up from a drug sleep, my mouth all cottony, and discovered that he had replenished the toothpaste, toilet paper, and soap while I had been out. Another time I woke up and discovered that all of my nails had been cut. He hadn't done a really good job, but they were short enough to prevent me from hurting myself with them, or from reaching through the door flap next time he brought food and clawing him with them. I thought about that frequently, but was afraid that he would punish me by withholding food again. I tried once to keep a sandwich until later, but he refused to give me any more until I had eaten that one. That little battle lasted two days, at the end of which I promised not to try to keep them again. 

Through it all, I kept my hold on Josh, kept trying to force myself to believe in him, to believe he'd come get me, that our love would save me, but it got harder and harder every day, and Captor just kept trying to wear me down. One day I finally lost it with him, screaming into the radio. 

"He's not coming, you know," he said. 

"Yes he is," I argued stubbornly. 

"No, he's not," Captor insisted. "He's moving on. He's forgotten all about you. JC is out there, right now, getting over you, finding someone else." 

"And when he does, you'll let me go, and I'll go back to him," I said, shaking my head. Josh would never find someone else, not to replace me. 

"Maybe," Captor said absently, and I shivered. Was he thinking of not letting me go? As the days had gone by I had convinced myself that one of these times he drugged me I would open my eyes the next time and be somewhere else, be outside this tiny room, but what if I just closed them, and never opened them again? 

"Josh will come save me!" I insisted, trying not to cry again as fear numbed me. 

"No, he won't," he insisted right back. "He's not coming to save you. He's not even looking for you. You're here, and you're mine." 

"Fuck you!" I screamed, holding the button down. "Josh will come for me! He loves me, and you'll never fucking break me! Do you hear me? You'll never fucking break me, you asshole!" 

There was no answer to that, no response, and I thought that maybe he would leave me alone. I was wrong. He decided to punish me instead. I got one sandwich that night, but it didn't seem to be drugged, didn't have that bitter undertone that they usually had. Maybe a half hour after I finished eating, though, I felt a sharp cramp race through my stomach. Staggering, I barely made it to the toilet in time as I felt another, and another, twisting through my intestines. He'd put laxative in the sandwich. I was on the toilet for what seemed like hours, sweating, cramping, waiting for it to be over. I realized dimly that if you were already weak, if you were already half starved, diarrhea could actually be fatal. In his zeal to punish me, he might actually kill me. 

I had to get out of here before that could happen. 

Sitting on the toilet, praying for this to be over, I realized finally that Josh wouldn't come for me. Crying, I let go of that hope, holding my head in my hands. Josh wasn't coming to save me, wasn't out looking for me. No one would save me, unless I did it myself. I was afraid to get off the toilet, afraid that it wouldn't be over, and eventually fell asleep there. When I woke up the next morning, tired and stiff, I went to sleep on the mattress, ignoring the sandwich by the door. Instead, I ate it when I got up. 

I spent the next day or two pacing my cell, trying to figure this out. I played scenarios over and over in my mind, but kept coming up with reasons why they didn't work. I always needed one more thing, or needed something to happen a certain way, or I wouldn't get out of here. He hadn't drugged me since the laxative incident, either, and I figured I needed to do this fast, before I got weak again. While I was thinking that, and bending down to pick up my sandwich, I saw his flaw. This prison wasn't perfectly constructed after all. There was something he'd overlooked, and I'd overlooked it all this time, too. After eating, I paced my cell, looking around, working things out in my head, and figured everything out. 

The sandwich wasn't drugged, and he didn't blast music that night. When I woke up in the morning, I was refreshed, and felt as strong as I could under the circumstances. I got up and washed, brushing my teeth and pretending it was a normal day. I didn't bother getting dressed anymore, other than keeping the boxers and undershirt on, because my pants didn't stay up now without a belt, and I couldn't hold them up and run at the same time. I didn't know if I had the energy to run, but I could try, damn it. Turning around, I surveyed the room, and saw that I was ready. 

He wasn't perfect, and he hadn't broken me. Josh wasn't coming, but I was getting out of here, just the same. 

Reaching out, I pressed the button to speak. 

---

CHAPTER 69

---

JACK'S POV: 

"Hello?" I asked loudly, trying to catch his attention. "Hello? Captor?" 

I hadn't ever called him this to his face, but figured he wouldn't mind. He hadn't given me another name to call him, after all. I waited. As odd as it sounded, I actually needed for him to be at home for this to work. I'd already figured out that he only left the house when he drugged me. I didn't want to be right in the middle of this and be surprised by him, so I needed to know exactly where in the house he was when I started. I pressed the button again. 

"Are you out there or not?" I asked, waiting. 

"Is there something you need?" he asked. 

"Just to know you're watching," I said, not holding the button down. 

Wrapping my shirt around my hand, I strolled to the center of the room, reached up, and began to unscrew the light bulb. Since it was on all the time, it was too hot for me to touch, normally, but I wasn't having a problem now. I figured he must change the bulb when I was drugged, because it hadn't gone out the entire time I'd been here. 

"What are you doing?" he shrieked, his agitation plain even through the voice modulator. I waved at the camera, grinning widely, and then went back to what I was doing. 

"Fucking with you for a change," I answered, not pressing the button, knowing he couldn't hear me. Talking back to him like this felt oddly defiant. 

I finished unscrewing the bulb, plunging my little cell into complete darkness. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. "Put that back!" 

"Fuck you," I said, and then reached for the button. I pressed it. "I'm taking a nap, and I'm tired of doing it with this fucking light on." 

"Put that bulb back in now, Jack!" he said. "Put it back in right now!" 

"I'll put it back in when I wake up," I said, holding the button in. "Night night." 

I went and lay down on the mattress, waiting to see if he'd do what I thought he would. Sure enough, I heard him charging up the stairs. I'd gotten pretty attuned to the noises of the house. He only ever talked to me when he was in the next room, so I assumed the only screen he had was down here. It meant that once I knew he was out of the basement, and wouldn't be walking in, I could get to work. It also meant, though, that I had started a clock ticking. I had to get out, because this was it for me. He would punish me for this, too, and if it was anything like the last punishment, I might not recover. I couldn't take being starved any longer, as I could see by my own arms and legs, and ribs, that I had already lost more weight than could be healthy. And there was no way in hell I was going to take another dose of the laxative punishment. 

I waited, and heard the other sound I was listening for, him charging back down the stairs. I heard the door flap moving, and saw the beam of a flashlight come sliding across the floor. 

"That's not helping me sleep, " I snapped, as he shined it at my face. He jumped and pulled it back through the door flap. 

As soon as he retracted it I ran over to the door, and pressed my ear to the flap, listening. He paced the room, muttering to himself, but I still couldn't recognize the voice. 

"Jack, I want that light bulb back in the socket," he said, apparently trying to be calm. 

"No," I said, holding the button down. "As I see it, oh Captor, my Captor, you have three options. You can wait until I put it back in, you can come in and do it yourself, not knowing if I'm going to bite, claw, or otherwise assault you, or you can let me get some sleep, drug my next sandwich, and put the bulb back in while I'm sedated." 

"You worthless cocksucking piece of shit!" he spat. 

"Why should you be the only one who gets to play games?" I asked, and then let the button go. 

"Jack!" he said. "Jack? You won't like the way this turns out, Jack." 

"It's your move," I answered, holding in the button. "I'll be waiting." 

I was banking on him being too cowardly to come in and risk a face to face confrontation, and apparently I was right. After a minute or two, during which I calmly sat on the mattress, facing the door, I heard him climb the stairs heavily. I stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the complete darkness, and followed the sound of his footsteps across the room above me. OK. I now knew for sure that he wasn't in the basement with me, watching his side of the door, so I could get to work. I'm not a religious person, but Josh prayed every night, and I directed a silent prayer toward Josh's God, to please help me get out of this and get back to him. 

Reaching up, I unhooked my necklace, and crossed the room toward the speaker plate. During the time I'd spent here, I'd been able to memorize every feature of this room, and could navigate it in the complete darkness I'd created. I needed a flat, thin piece of metal with an edge, and the medallion of my necklace was too wide, but I was betting that the speaker plate itself wasn't. All I needed was to get it off of the wall, and that's where the necklace came in. I slid it into the first screw on the speaker plate, and began to turn. It took a second, because the screws were painted over, but I almost cried out when I felt it move. It was a difficult process in the dark, especially with the round medallion slipping out of the grooves on the screws so many times, but I finally got all four screws out. The speaker plate clung to the wall, painted on, and I punched it and heard it clatter to the floor. 

Feeling around for it, my hand brushed over it, and I grinned. It was as thin as I had hoped, and would work perfectly. I hooked my necklace back on, not wanting to lose it, and then crossed over with the speaker plate toward the door. This was Captor's mistake, not the plate, but the door itself. The hinges were on my side. I just needed something thin enough and strong enough to pull the pins with. I started with the middle one, figuring that it would be easy to train myself on the one at my height before attempting the other two. After what seemed an eternity of fiddling, I finally managed to get the plate's edge worked in, and after straining, sweating, and cursing, I felt the pin slide up out of the hinge. 

And then I heard his feet on the stairs. 

"Fuck!" I whispered, running for the bed. I threw myself down on the mattress, my back to the door, cradling the plate and the pin against my chest. The flashlight beam spilled over me again. "I'm not asleep yet." 

The beam winked out immediately, and I heard him on the speaker. 

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why are you provoking me like this? You know how this is going to turn out, Jack." 

I walked over to the speaker. 

"I'm tired, whoever you are, " I said, holding in the button. "I'm tired of playing these games, and I'm tired of listening to you every day. I'm tired of trying to fall asleep with that fucking bulb on, and I'm tired of you being the one with all the cards all the time. I told you, I won't break. I'm not putting the light bulb back in." 

I waited, praying he hadn't been upstairs finding a gun, or looking for the courage to open the door. I didn't think I could overpower anyone in a fight right now, and he must know that. I listened to myself breathe, steeling myself to fight as much as I could, but then heard his feet going up the stairs again. Listening carefully for him, I pulled the top pin, and then the bottom one. I was ready, and he hadn't come back downstairs yet. I'd only get one shot at this, and hoped it would work. Squatting, I put my hands through the flap, gripping the bottom of the door like I had that very first day, and I pulled it toward me, cursing under my breath. It began to move, and I stood quickly, not wanting it to fall on me or make a loud noise that might attract him. 

I pulled the door open, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I saw something beyond my four walls. I was in a basement, as I'd suspected. On the other side of my wall, I saw a desk with a speaker and a television, and I assumed that it was where he watched me. There was a chair there, and a garbage can overflowing with empty chip bags and soda cans. I wanted to stop and look over the desk, to peek into the drawers to see, finally, which of them it was, but I had no idea of where in the house he was. If I was getting out, I was getting farther than the other side of the door before I got caught. 

I padded up the basement stairs, being careful not to stomp my socked feet, and carefully, ever so slowly, turned the doorknob. He hadn't locked it, probably because he never would have guessed that I'd get out, and I grinned in triumph. I so loved being underestimated. Pulling the door open, I paused and listened, waiting, trying to figure out where he was. I heard a creak above my head, and realized he was on the second floor. I needed to find a door and get out right now, so I stepped into the hallway. It was a plain, nondescript hallway, painted white, and some generic art prints hung on the walls. I glanced left and right, trying to figure out which way to go, but both opened toward darkened rooms. I picked left, and walked quickly down the hall and into the living room. A set of stairs rose along one wall, but it was the stuff on the wall to my right that caused me to suck in all of my breath. 

The wall was covered with newspaper clippings, completely covered. Some of the pages were older, starting to yellow, but others were brand new. There were magazine clippings mixed in, standing out glossily, and they were covered with mine and Josh's faces. If I saw this scene in a movie, I'd be screaming at the main character to run, to get the hell out of there right now, but I was spellbound. I stepped closer, a hand over my mouth in shock, as my eyes scanned the wall. 

"Oh my God," I whispered. 

They were all stories about us coming out, about Josh and I as a couple. There were pictures of us on the red carpet, clippings of us going to clubs or movies, pages of our interviews and profiles, radiating outward like a flower from a big center shot, which was the two of us on the cover of "The Advocate". On the edges of it I recognized the originals of the photocopied articles I had been passed. This wasn't just someone keeping track of us, wasn't just a fan. This was obsession, although I should have realized that, and shouldn't have been surprised by it. It was a very specific obsession, that of Josh and I as a couple. I took a step back from the wall, shaking my head, and then heard a footstep on the stairs. 

Looking up, I was frozen in horror as I saw Basil Morgan walking down the stairs. If I was surprised, though, he was stunned. He stopped dead, staring at me, as if trying to figure out how in the hell I'd gotten to the living room. 

"You!" he snapped. 

"Fuck!" I answered. 

I glanced at the front door, at the bottom of the steps, and decided in a split second that I wouldn't make it. Turning, I ran back down the hallway, heading for the back, praying there would be a back door as I heard Basil thudding down the stairs behind me, as if me moving had broken his spell. It probably did. I burst through a swinging door into a kitchen, and then he was right there behind me, grabbing my shoulders again, slamming me forward like he had in the alley when he threw me into the dumpster. 

I kicked backward, feeling my foot collide somewhere fleshy and hearing him grunt, even as he threw me forward into a wall. I bounced off of it painfully, glancing off of it as my hip banged on the table. Carried forward by the momentum of an extremely overweight man slamming into me, I crashed into the refrigerator, turning myself to see Basil wheezing painfully toward me as he clutched his crotch with one hand. I reached out wildly, grabbing for anything, and swung the first object I found at him as he came. Luckily, it was the frying pan. 

The pan connected with his head with a loud banging gong, the vibration running up my arm. I grabbed the handle with my other hand, clutching it in both like a baseball bat as he grunted, falling against me, and I brought it down again as I stepped back, giving myself more room. He dropped to the floor as I danced away from him, and caught himself with his hands. As he began to try to stand I panicked, and brought the frying pan down squarely on his head. He dropped to the floor as if he'd been shot, and I waited, my heart racing, feeling like I was about to pass out. I could barely breathe, the wind still knocked out of me from hitting the wall, but he wasn't moving. 

I grabbed the phone off of the wall, fighting for air, seeing black spots on the edge of my vision as my pulse pounded in my ears. 

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?" 

"My name is Jack Springer, and I've been kidnapped. The man who kidnapped me is named Basil Morgan, he's a reporter, and I think I've hurt him. I think we need an ambulance, and police," I said, aware that I was babbling. "Please help me." 

"Sir, do you know where you are?" the operator asked, businesslike. 

"No!" I answered, leaning on the wall. "I don't know where I am, and I've been here for weeks. Please, please can you trace this or something? Please, just send a lot of police. I think I knocked him out, but please, please just help me." 

Dizzy, weak, I slid down the wall, feeling my knees buckle. Josh wasn't coming, but the police were. I dropped the phone, hearing the operator speaking, but unable to keep following the words. I stared across the kitchen, watching Basil's head bleed on the floor. Basil Morgan. All this time, it had been Basil, the man who thought we stole his story, the man who blamed us for ruining his career. He had worked with Peyton, trying to sabotage me, had tried to blackmail us. He had waited and ambushed Chris and I, claiming that it wasn't over, that I owed him. And he'd gotten his revenge. He'd taken Josh away from me, taken my friends away from me, taken everything away from me. He'd almost taken my life. 

I felt anger bubbling up inside me, not just anger, rage. I realized what he had done, thought back to all the days he had taunted me, all the sleep I'd lost. I remembered the night he had punished me with the laxatives, the pain of sitting on the toilet and feeling my stomach cramp. I remembered all the times I had waited to see if I'd be fed today, the fear that I might actually die here. I remembered the nights I had laid alone on the mattress, wishing Josh could be with me, wondering where he was. I thought about the pain he'd put Josh through, and I remembered the feeling of a knife ramming through me when I'd had to fill out that postcard. 

And it had all been him. 

I stood, my knees shaking, as I realized that I still had the frying pan in my hand. Blood dripped from it, patterning the floor in pointillist designs. I could kill him. I could kill him right now, could hit him with the pan again, and no one would know. I could kill him now, and it would be self-defense. Not just that, it would be karma. It would be justice. He had taken my life, and I could take his, and it would be ok. 

I dropped the pan and pulled myself down the hallway, away from the kitchen, back toward the living room. What was wrong with me? My heart was thumping in my chest, and I could barely breathe, barely stand. I was dizzy, supporting myself with the furniture as I pulled myself across the living room. I pulled open the front door, feeling the wind on my face, and squinted in the bright sunshine, so bright, hurting my eyes, washing everything out. I heard sirens in the distance, and realized as I passed out on the porch that it wasn't the sunlight washing everything out. It was me. 

That's all I remember. I was told later what happened, that the police came and that an ambulance took me to Cedars Sinai, but I don't remember any of that. 

I remember opening my eyes in an all-white room, in bed, and thinking I was back in the basement. I jerked awake with a start, feeling something pull at my arm, and I thrashed in the bed, and suddenly felt someone smothering me, crushing me with their arms. 

"No!" I yelled, pushing, wishing I was stronger. I wouldn't let Basil keep me here. "No!" 

"Jack! Jack, stop it!" someone yelled, a different voice, a voice I knew. "Jack, please!" 

I was in a hospital bed, I realized. The tugging at my arm was an IV, and I'd almost pulled it out. There were sounds behind me, machines, and there were monitor pads on my chest. I stopped struggling as I took all of this in, and the person holding me down stood as I fought to place his name. When I saw his face, with that same half scowl that it carried no matter what his mood, I couldn't believe I didn't know it, couldn't believe that I had ever allowed myself to forget my friends. 

"Joey?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Joey?" 

Tears burst from my eyes uncontrollably, blurring my vision, and Joey threw his arms around me as I latched onto him. He didn't squeeze me hard, didn't give me a crushing Joey hug no matter how hard I clutched at him, and I wondered why. Maybe he was afraid he'd break me. I held him, felt his arms around me, smelled his cologne, and heard his voice. It was Joey, really Joey. 

"Joey," I said again, unable to say anything else. I was just so happy, so grateful to see anyone I knew, to see a friend. I couldn't say anything but his name. "Joey, you're Joey, my friend Joey. Joey." 

"Yeah, I'm Joey," he said, laughing, holding on to me. He reached past me to hit the nurse call button. "Jack, calm down. Don't get excited." 

"Joey, I'm, how?" I sputtered, trying to speak. I felt overwhelmed. "You're here?" 

I couldn't believe I'd become so inarticulate, but my tongue was tied. All I could do was cry, and hold onto Joey. 

"Settle, Jack, settle," Joey said, gently pushing me back down onto the bed. He held my hand tightly, wiping at his eyes. I'd never seen Joey cry before, not ever. "Jack, we're here for you. We're all here, for you." 

Tears were pouring down his face, but he was grinning. 

"Josh?" I asked, reaching up. My necklace was still there. "Josh is here?" 

"Yes, Josh is here," Joey answered. 

"But I look like crap," I said, mentally smacking myself. How could those be the first words I managed to say? 

Joey burst out laughing. 

"Oh, yeah, you're gonna be ok," Joey said, grinning but still letting tears roll down his cheeks. 

He pushed my hair back off of my forehead, and I realized that it had gotten very long. I'd been due for a haircut before any of this had happened, and I lifted a hand to my beard again. Nobody had shaved me. I realized that I had lost track of a lot of things. 

"Joey, what day is it?" I asked. 

"Jack, I'm not supposed to upset you," he answered, his eyes darting away. "They only let one of us in at a time, and I said I'd take this shift so the other guys could eat and stuff." 

He thumbed the nurse switch again, and I figured that it was a good thing I wasn't dying, since she was taking so long. 

"Joey, how long?" I asked, seeing him pale as he realized I had no idea. "How long have I been gone?" 

"Jack," Joey sighed, holding my hand. He looked into my eyes, and flinched suddenly as I glared at him, silently demanding an answer. Joey looked away. "Two months, Jack. You've been gone for two months." 

"Two months?" I asked, holding my hands out in front of me, seeing how thin and pale they were. I felt fresh tears flood my eyes, and Joey clutched me to him again as I sobbed. Two months? I thought maybe it was a couple weeks, a month at most, but two months? 

The nurse came in, finally, picking up my chart and making a notation. She checked my pulse, and looked at all the little machines behind me. 

"You're awake again," she said, smiling. "Do you know your name?" 

"Jack Springer," I answered, as Joey sat back. "Again?" 

"You were up before, but not coherent," Joey explained, as the nurse leaned in to shine a light at my eyes. I squinted and looked away. 

"I see you've been a little agitated," she said, looking at one of the machines and looking at Joey. 

"Sorry," he answered guiltily, as if he had something to do with it. 

"How do you feel, Mr. Springer?" she asked, smiling at me. 

"Tired," I answered. "And thirsty. Can I have a drink?" 

"Of course," she answered. "Chocolate or vanilla?" 

"Umm, chocolate?" I answered unsurely. Joey also looked confused. "What am I drinking, exactly?" 

"Protein shake," she answered. "Doctor's orders. He'll be by in a bit." 

She left to go find my shake, and I wondered if it would be as gross as it sounded. Clearly I needed to have a chat with the doctor. Joey stood as well, peering out the door. 

"Lance! Lance, get in here!" he called down the hallway. 

"Mr. Fatone!" I heard the nurse snapping. "I've asked you before to please be quiet, or you'll disturb the other patients. And remember, only one of you can be in there at a time." 

"Sorry," Joey said, chastised. He stepped into the hallway, and suddenly Lance was rushing in. 

"Oh, Jack, oh my God, we were so scared," he gushed, crying hard. I felt myself getting worked up all over again, and wondered if I would have to do this three more times. Lance stood by the bed, as if unsure of what to do, and I held out my arms. He threw himself against me, sobbing into my chest. Looking up, I saw Howie through the door window, wiping at his eyes. I waved at him over Lance's shoulder. "Jack, you're back. Oh, thank God." 

"Lance, it's ok," I said, tears running down my cheeks again. "I'm here now, and I missed you guys so much. I missed you all." 

"I'm sorry we weren't looking for you," Lance sobbed. "I'm sorry we didn't try to find you. I'm sorry we didn't try to help you. I'm so, so sorry, Jack." 

"Lance, shhhh," I said, not really believing that I was already having to comfort one of the guys, and I hadn't even made it out of bed yet. What the hell had they done while I was gone? Then again, Lance was pretty dependent on me, so I guess this would hit him as hard as it did Josh. "Lance, it was a trick, it was all a trick. It's ok. You guys have nothing to be sorry for, and you're here now." 

"We were so scared, Jack," Lance sobbed, sitting up, trying to get himself under control. 

"Lance, where is everyone?" I asked, trying to distract him. 

"Howie's in the hall, and Joey went to go get the guys," Lance answered, wiping at his eyes. "Justin and JC went downstairs to get something to eat, and Chris is down the hall in the chapel." 

"Chris?" I blurted. "Is he lost?" 

"No," Lance answered, smiling. "He's praying, I think. He's praying for you, because we didn't know if you were gonna wake up, or if you'd be ok when you did." 

"Why?" I asked. I felt scared, suddenly, and heard the heart monitor behind me pick up a little. Lance looked at it, his eyes bulging. "Lance, what's wrong with me?" 

"I'm not supposed to upset you," Lance began quietly. This was the same thing Joey had done. Why was everyone treating me with kid gloves? 

"Lance, if I start screaming at you to give me a straight answer, I'm going to get pretty upset," I pointed out. "Just tell me what's wrong with me, before someone else comes in and interrupts." 

"You almost died on the way here, Jack," Lance answered quietly. Tears began to roll down his cheeks again. "You've lost so much weight that it put a strain on your heart, and you had all these drugs floating around in your system. The doctor thinks that you fighting with, with that fucking, that, Basil, it was too much exertion. In the ambulance on the way here your heart started to flutter, and they were afraid it was going to stop. It happened again, too, right after you woke up." 

"I don't remember waking up, " I whispered, trying to put this together. "Lance, am I, am I dying?" 

"No!" he answered quickly, holding my hand. "They said you'll get better, get stronger again. They just want to keep you here for a little while, until you do." 

There was a knock at the door, and I looked up to see Chris. Lance squeezed my hand again. 

"Hug Howie for me," I said, as he jumped up, wiping his eyes again. 

Chris walked slowly over to the bed, staring down at me, grinning. 

"Hey," he said, tilting his head to the side. 

"Hey," I answered, smiling up at him. 

He dropped down suddenly, scooping me up against him, and I hugged back just as tightly. He pulled back, and I saw that his eyes were watering, but he was holding it in. 

"You don't smell like smoke, " I observed, sniffing. 

"I quit," he said, shrugging. 

"Me, too," I said, grinning. 

"I was gonna stay, and tell you we love you, and how much I missed you," Chris began, "but there's someone coming down the hall that really wants to see you, so welcome back, Jack." 

"Thanks," I said, feeling butterflies in my stomach. 

Chris stepped away, waving as he walked out the door, and then he was there, in the doorway, looking at me with his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, filled with wonder and joy. The light from the hallway shined down onto his hair, and his face, so tanned, was flushed and nervous. It was Josh, my Josh, the face I'd tried to imagine so many times, the man I loved, the man I lived for, and here he was, finally coming back for me. As soon as I saw him, I started crying all over again, and he did too, walking quickly toward the bed. He sat down on it, leaning toward me, but seemed unsure, like all of the others had. Later I would explain to them that I wasn't so fragile. Right now, though, I just wanted to see him. 

"Jack?" he asked quietly, smiling at me even as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

I brought my shaking hands up to his face, holding it, resting them on his cheekbones, feeling his jaw, and he brought his own hands, tanned, warm, firm, up to press them to him as he nuzzled against my palms. I was blinking furiously, trying to clear my eyes, trying to get the tears to stop coming, but I couldn't help it. Josh was here now, and I felt myself suddenly let go. Everything inside me broke, all the walls and anger I'd been holding up to keep Basil from getting to me. I grabbed Josh and pressed him to me, sobbing, and felt his warm hands slide up my back as I buried my face in his firm chest. 

"Oh God, Jack," he said quietly, and I could heard that he was crying, too, could feel his chest shaking beneath my face. 

"I love you," I cried against him, sure that I was yelling, but hearing that it was just a whimper. "I love you. Every day I knew I'd see you again, knew that you'd still be here for me. I love you, Josh, more than anything. I love you." 

"I love you, too," he whispered above me, holding me to him. "I love you, too, Jack." 

The nurse came in with my shake, but I ignored her, not even noticing as she set it on the bedside table. She didn't matter, the rest of the guys didn't matter, none of it mattered. I had Josh in my arms again. 

Josh had come for me after all. 

---

CHAPTER 70

---

JUSTIN'S POV: 

The television continued to babble on as Chris sat and held onto me, and I fought to get myself under control. I reached out for the remote and clicked it off, and pulled away from him. 

"Justin?" Chris asked, as I wiped at my eyes. 

"I have to go pack, too," I said. "We have to get to the airport, all of us." 

"Justin, wait," Chris said, grabbing my arm. I turned back, and saw his brown eyes, wide with concern. "Justin, I know you're not ok. Are you sure you want to do this?" 

I sighed. I didn't want to do this, didn't want to even think about it, but I had to. 

"Chris, this is my fault," I said, shaking my head. "I never made Josh face any of this, never made him see what was wrong. It's my fault that Jack has been alone, having God knows what happen to him all this time. I've been distracting Josh, I've been keeping him from thinking about Jack. There were clues, Chris, so many clues, and Josh didn't want to face them, so I helped him hide from them." 

"Justin, it wasn't just you, " Chris said, as I continued to sob slowly. "We all went along with it, because we all believed it." 

"No, we didn't," I said, shaking my head. How could I have allowed myself to be so selfish? I hadn't changed at all. "You hired that investigator." 

"Who didn't find anything," Chris pointed out, grabbing my shoulders. "Justin, look at me. What happened to Jack isn't your fault. Maybe it looked funny at first, but you were right there working on it, trying to find him. And then, later, we all believed it, Justin, even JC. Don't blame yourself for not seeing this, because no one would have. Maybe the first note looked funny, but there was that damn postcard. Maybe we couldn't figure out why Jack would leave, but Justin, it really looked like he did." 

"And now he's back," I said, turning away. "And Josh is going back to him." 

I began to walk toward the stairs, and heard Chris behind me. 

"Justin, wait a second, please," he said. I turned back and saw Chris looking at me carefully. "Justin, none of us have really talked about, you know, you and Josh. I saw what you just did for him. If you, you know, if you need to talk about it, I'm here." 

"I'll be fine," I lied, walking up the stairs. 

Josh and I got dressed quickly, listening to Chris on the phone downstairs as he called Joey and Lance, coordinating our plans. Josh made a deliberate effort not to look at me, to keep his eyes on what he was doing. Neither one of us mentioned why he had a bag at my house, or why he had clothes here. We both pretended nothing was wrong, that there was nothing between the two of us, and I felt my heart breaking a little more with every second that went by. A half hour ago, we had been in the kitchen, making breakfast, holding each other. Now, everything had changed. 

"Josh, what are you thinking?" I asked. "Please, please talk to me." 

"Justin, what if he doesn't still love me?" Josh asked quietly, sitting on the bed. "We didn't do anything, Justin. I didn't look for him, didn't try to find him. Carla was right. I gave up on him." 

"No you didn't," I said, putting an arm around his shoulders as I sat next to him. I heard Chris's words in my ears, and decided that I should at least rephrase them. "Josh, you were tricked. We all were. Jack will know that, and he'll understand." 

"What about the rest, Justin?" Josh asked, turning to face me. His eyes were wet again, and his lip was quivering. I realized as he took my hand that he was shaking. "Will he understand the rest? Will he understand about us?" 

I swallowed. In the story of the Little Mermaid, not the Disney one, but the original, it talks about what it was like for her to walk on land. My mom used to read me stories when I was little, and that one always stuck in my head, somehow. It said that every step she took on land with her new feet would feel like she was walking on knives, that she would pay for each footstep with her pain, and as I spoke, I realized I knew how she felt. I knew what it was like, because every word that came out of my mouth stabbed my heart. When I was little, I always wondered how she could do it, why she would keep walking if it caused her so much pain, when it would have been so much easier for her to just get back into the ocean and forget the rest, and I realized now that sometimes you love someone else more than you love yourself. 

"Josh, I helped you through a rough spot, that's all," I said. "You and I love each other because we're friends, best friends, just like we agreed. Jack will understand that, Josh." 

Josh swallowed, and I could see that he wanted to say something else, but I cut him off. 

"Chris is waiting for us," I said, standing. I grabbed our bags and began to walk toward the door. 

"Justin, I never wanted to hurt you," Josh said quietly behind me. 

"I know you didn't, Josh," I answered. "Best friends. That's all it ever was. And if we're a little closer than most best friends, well, that can't really be a bad thing, can it?" 

"I guess not," Josh said, following me. "Best friends." 

Yeah, best friends. Josh might be willing to accept that, but what about me? Where did this leave me now? I had been with Josh these past few weeks, and we'd gotten so much closer, and I started to believe that he loved me, but really he had just been waiting for Jack. Actually, that wasn't fair. Josh loved me as much as he could, and he had been honest with me. He told me he couldn't love me the way I loved him, and I told him that was ok, but I had lied again. I had been holding the secret hope that Josh would grow to love me, and it seemed like he was. 

And now Jack was back. 

I wanted to cry all over again. 

The three of us met Joey at the bottom of my driveway, piling into his car along with Vlada, who had brought a bag for Chris. The big smear of lipstick on Chris's neck matched the color on her mouth, although she, as always, appeared immaculate. I gave him a little motion to clean his neck off. The entire way to the airport Josh held my hand and stared out the window, looking pale and nervous, and none of us spoke. We met Lance and Howie there, as Lance struggled to get us all seats on the first available flight and Howie attempted to just charter us a plane of our own. We were all so worried about Jack that Howie and I forgot to be mad at each other, mustering a surly glare every once in a while, but mostly we were all just watching Josh. Chris stayed on his phone the entire time, trying to find out Jack's condition, but no one would give him any information, and he was eventually transferred to a police official of some sort. When he finally hung up the phone, he looked grave, and led us all into the private lounge that Joey had gotten for us. 

"OK, I don't want anyone to panic," Chris began, and Josh squeezed my hand. 

On the other side of the room, Lance and Howie held onto each other, facing us, and Joey sat next to Vlada, his face, as always, impassively hard to read. I wondered about Vlada being there, but she and Chris had been dating rather heavily lately, and if he trusted her, that was enough for me. We had a half hour before we had to board the plane, and I waited to see what bomb Chris would drop now. My head was spinning, and I wondered if anything could be more surprising than what we'd already heard. 

"Right now the details are still kind of sketchy, but it looks like Jack was kidnapped by Basil Morgan," Chris began. 

"That fucking piece of," Joey began, but Chris cut him off as Josh shook his head, repeating, "Oh, God, oh my God," over and over under his breath. 

"Not now!" Chris said sharply, motioning to Joey. He took Josh's other hand, and continued, and Josh looked at him, tears beginning to run down his face. "It looks like Basil kept him locked up in a room in his basement, and has been keeping him there all this time. They're not sure what happened yet, but Jack got out somehow, and fought with Basil, and then called 911 for help." 

"Where is he now?" Joey asked. I wasn't sure which of them he meant. 

"They're both in intensive care right now," Chris answered bluntly, and Josh burst into full out tears. 

"What did he do to him?" Josh sobbed, throwing himself against me. I held him to my chest, but looked at Chris helplessly. I wanted to help Josh, wanted to be here for him, but at the same time I wanted him to turn to any of the others instead of me. "What's wrong with Jack?" 

"Josh, I don't know," Chris answered, laying a hand on his back. "The hospital won't tell me anything." 

I looked at Chris's face, and could see that he wasn't being completely honest with Josh. Joey caught it, too, raising an eyebrow, but Chris shook his head. 

"Why is Basil in the hospital?" I asked. I'd personally never met the man, but had yet to hear a good thing about him. 

"Jack beat him into unconsciousness with a frying pan," Chris answered, grinning. Now that actually sounded like Jack. I found myself wanting to grin, too, a little. "That's part of the problem, though. The police are trying to decide if they're going to charge Jack with anything." 

I think all of us, even Vlada, blurted, "What?" at the same time. 

"The guy at the police station said it was a remote possibility," Chris said quickly, holding up his hands. "They're only mentioning it because they don't have a statement from either of them yet, and once they find out it was self-defense, he was sure that Jack won't be charged with anything." 

"This is un-fucking-believable," Joey snapped, walking around the lounge. "This guy locks Jack up in a basement, and they're going to throw Jack in jail for bustin' out? What the fuck, Chris?" 

"Stop it," Josh whispered. 

"Joey," I said, trying to get his attention. 

"God only knows what he's fucking done to him," Joey continued ranting. Josh trembled against me. 

"Joey!" I said sharply. He paused in mid-stride, glancing at me. "You're upsetting Josh." 

Joey rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of us. 

"JC, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm just upset. This is going to be ok, you'll see. This is all going to be like a bad dream. You'll be back with Jack again before you know it." 

I inhaled sharply, not meaning to, but Joey caught it. Now he was looking at me like he wanted to apologize, but I shook my head, blinking quickly to hold in my tears. 

"Umm, Vlada, why don't you take JC in that bathroom over there, and get him some water?" Chris suggested. Vlada nodded, taking Josh's hand. 

"Come viz me, JZ," she said, leading him carefully. Josh blinked at her, his natural inclination to be polite overriding his urge to throw himself against me and sob. "You haf some vater, and zen I fix your hair. Come come." 

As soon as they were gone, behind the closed door of the little bathroom attached to the lounge, Chris turned back to us, motioning for us to move closer. 

"I didn't want to say this in front of Josh, because they don't know a lot yet," he began, and I saw that even Chris was starting to tear up. He sniffled, blinking, and continued. "There are, um, indications that Basil might have tortured Jack. They're not sure yet, but they think he was drugging him, and they don't know what else, but Jack isn't in really good shape right now. They're worried that he, shit, that he might not pull through this." 

"No," I said, shaking my head. I wanted Josh, wished he could stay with me, but not like this. "No." 

"Oh my God," Lance said, sobbing now. He hugged Howie, who just looked stunned. 

"Both of you, stop it, right now," Joey said sharply. We all looked at him. "Josh is going to come out of the bathroom in a second, and he needs us, and so does Jack. You fall apart later, behind closed doors. Right now, Josh needs us all to be strong. When he walks out of there, we do a group hug, and we hold onto him as long as he needs us to, until we all get on that fucking plane. Got it?" 

It was odd to see Joey as the take charge guy, for once, but we needed someone to do it. We all nodded, and I got up to go stand by the windows as Lance, Chris, and Howie cleaned up their eyes. Joey followed me, stepping up next to me to stare out over the runway. 

"Justin, what I said before, I didn't mean it to hurt you," Joey said quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder as I stood with my forehead on the glass. 

"It doesn't matter now," I answered quietly, closing my eyes. 

"Damn right it doesn't matter," Howie snapped from behind me. "Jack's back now, and it doesn't matter how much you tried to replace him. JC is done with you." 

I spun toward Howie, fists up, as Joey stepped between us. 

"God damn it!" Chris hissed from the couch. 

"Not fucking now!" Joey snapped, glaring at Howie. "Go sit down." 

Lance stared at us, unsure again of whose side to take, but Howie turned away, walking back toward him. 

"You two, leave each other alone," Joey said, turning to me. "This is not the time." 

"But Joey, he started it," I began, and Joey held a finger up in front of my face. 

"This isn't what JC needs, Justin," Joey said quietly, and I slumped, all the fight leaving me. He was right. 

The flight seemed to take forever. Josh somehow managed to fall asleep, and I marveled again at how he could do that under any circumstances. I couldn't sleep at all, could barely think about anything besides Josh as he sat next to me, his head on my shoulder. I wanted to switch seats, but didn't want to upset him. I was worried about Jack, too. We should have been able to do something, should have been able to help him. Instead I had believed those notes, even though they flew in the face of everything else, because it had been easier to believe them. I listened because they said what I wanted to hear, and I let Josh do it, too. And now Jack might die because of my selfishness. 

Someone tipped off the reporters at some point, let them know we were in the air, because when we landed at LAX they were out in force, clustered all over the terminal, cameras ready. We moved through them as a unit, faces grim, not saying a word, barely even slowing down as we more or less pushed them right out of our way. Howie and Vlada trailed a few steps behind, but they didn't speak, smile, or wave either. We went straight through the terminal, greeted by some members of our management staff, and we left one of them to collect our bags and find us a hotel as the rest of us were led to a waiting limousine, which took us directly to the hospital. 

The reporters were out there as well, probably alerted by the crew at the airport, but we gave them the same treatment, walking past them as if they weren't there. An official from the hospital was waiting for us in the lobby, and he led us to a conference room, asking us all to sit down. I was extremely surprised to see Marshall, the lawyer who had made Jack sign all of those forms, waiting for us. Josh saw him, and tensed up. 

"Why are you here?" Josh hissed, glaring at him, refusing to sit down. 

"I'm here to help you," Marshall said, a stack of papers neatly arranged in front of him. "Sit, please. Dr. Swan needs to speak with all of you." 

"Where's Jack?" Josh asked. 

"Can we see him?" Lance added. 

"First I need to talk to you about his condition," Dr. Swan answered, and I let out a sigh of relief. I had been terrified that Jack would have died while we were in the air, trying to get here. 

We settled in around the table. I tried to move away from Josh, to leave Chris or Joey to sit by him, but he wouldn't let go of my hand. He felt me pulling away, and he looked up at me, but I shrugged and covered it, sitting next to him. 

"Marshall has produced paperwork signed by Mr. Springer that lists Mr. Chasez as his legal next of kin in situations such as this, which allows me to release information about his condition to you," Dr. Swan explained, standing at the front of the room. "Mr. Springer is in very delicate condition right now. We are currently giving him nutrients intravenously, but if he doesn't regain consciousness soon we will have no choice but to insert a feeding tube." 

"What happened to him?" Josh asked quietly. I looked around the table, and realized that I'd never seen us all look so pale and anxious. 

"Mr. Springer has undergone a catastrophic weight loss," Dr. Swan began impassively. I was thankful that he wasn't using a lot of big medical words, but also wondered if he thought boy bands might be stupid, and unable to comprehend. "He is severely malnourished, although we believe he will recover, given time and proper care. He was unconscious when the ambulance arrived on the scene, and regained partial awareness while they were there, but has yet to regain full consciousness." 

"I was told before that there was some thought that Jack's life was endangered," Chris said quietly, and Josh stared at him, his mouth hanging open. I squeezed his hand. "Is that because of the, um, the starvation?" 

"Not completely," Dr. Swan answered. "On the way to the hospital, Mr. Springer suffered a cardiac incident." 

"A heart attack?" Josh asked, starting to cry again. "But he's only twenty-six years old." 

I put an arm around Josh's shoulders as Chris slid a box of tissues toward us. 

"Not a heart attack," Dr. Swan said, trying to be reassuring. "He did not experience an arrest. Weight loss of this type puts a tremendous strain on the heart, and we are told by the police that he was engaged in a great deal of physical exertion just prior to calling for help. On the way here, his heart rhythm became erratic, but did not stop. We're monitoring him now, but there hasn't been a recurrence." 

"What about the rest?" Chris asked. "I was told something about drugs?" 

"Right now we believe his system is clear, but the information we have been provided, and the symptoms we've observed, all lead us to believe that he has been tranquilized nearly continuously for some period of time," Dr. Swan said. "These may have had an impact on him, but, as I said, we believe we have flushed his system." 

"When can we see him?" Josh asked, wiping at his eyes. 

"I can have someone escort you there now," Dr. Swan said. "For what it's worth, I believe your friend stands an excellent chance of a full recovery, but he's going to need time, and support. I'm certain that all of you can provide that." 

"I have Jack's room under guard," Marshall said, as we stood. "The police issues were clarified while you were in transit, and he is no longer in jeopardy of being charged with anything. I'm just making sure that he won't be disturbed by anyone who may sneak into the hospital." 

"Thanks," Josh said quietly. 

Vlada excused herself to go down to the cafeteria and find us all some drinks, and promised to meet us back at the room. Chris gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then we followed Dr. Swan through the hospital to Jack's room. As promised, there was a guard near the door, casually dressed, but enormous, and on second glance I noticed that it was Hank. He nodded at us, and I felt better having him around, because it was someone Jack would know and trust when he woke up. We pushed open the door, and saw Jack, looking tiny and fragile in a huge bed surrounded by machines. 

"Oh my God," Chris whispered. 

We had seen Jack on television, on the news, but only for a few seconds, and it hadn't really been an up close and personal shot of him. Laying on the bed on his back, with the sheet pulled up under his arms, dressed in one of those stupid paper hospital gowns, he looked so hurt and gaunt. It barely looked like Jack at all. He was pale, and his hair was longer than I'd ever seen it. He had a beard, something I'd also never seen him with, and he had deep hollows under his eyes. He was breathing on his own, but there were wires and monitors snaking under his gown, and a tube in his arm. Josh took the chair by his bed, carefully taking his had, as if afraid he'd break it, and the rest of us kind of circled around. Tears were running down Josh's face, but he kept his eyes open, staring at Jack, his face empty. 

"Is he, do you know when he'll wake up?" Lance asked quietly, holding Howie's hand. 

"He's not sedated, so he could wake at any time," Dr. Swan answered. "He might even respond to you, if he senses that you're all here." 

"Shouldn't we let him sleep?" Joey asked. 

"We haven't wanted to force him awake, but, like I said, if he senses all of you, he might wake on his own," Dr. Swan answered. "I'll leave you all alone now." 

Dr. Swan left, followed by Marshall, and the rest of us just hung around the room, staring at Jack, unable to look away. I tried to imagine what he'd gone through, how he'd gotten like this, but my mind kept drawing a blank. I just couldn't comprehend it. The Jack on the bed bore so little resemblance to the snappy, sarcastic, slightly neurotic Jack that we were all used to, the one that he was frozen in my mind as. 

"How could this happen?" Josh asked quietly, whispering. "How could I let this happen to him?" 

"Josh, this isn't your fault, " Joey said, putting a hand on Josh's shoulder. "This isn't any of our fault, but especially not yours. If you'd known, you wouldn't have let Jack be hurt like this." 

"I should have known," Josh said, shaking his head. "I should have known Jack wouldn't leave me. Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I know? I should have felt it, inside. I should have known he was in trouble." 

None of us knew what to say to that. I'd tried to reassure him before we left my house, but he hadn't wanted to listen then, either. Josh probably wouldn't believe any of us until Jack woke up and told him it wasn't his fault. As if me thinking it was enough, we all anxiously stared at the bed when we heard a change in Jack's breathing. I don't know if we thought he was waking up, or if we were scared he was going to die right there in front of us, but suddenly we were all hovering around the bed as we watched Jack's eyelids fluttering. 

"Jack?" Josh asked, squeezing his hand. "Jack, it's Josh. I'm here." 

"No," Jack whispered, and I watched Josh's mouth drop open in shock. Jack's voice was a raspy croak, a voice from the grave, the kind of thing you heard on the telephone in a horror movie. His eyes didn't open, just continued to flutter as he lifted his head a little from the bed. 

"Yes, it's Josh!" Josh insisted, his voice breaking. 

"Josh isn't coming," Jack whispered coldly, his head trembling. "Josh isn't ever coming for me." 

Jack's head dropped back into the pillow as a monitor behind him began to beep erratically. I realized it was the heart monitor. 

"Out! Everyone out!" a nurse said, throwing the door open. "Now!" 

We jumped, and pushed out into the hallway as another nurse and some other people came running down the hall, bringing one of those crash carts with them. 

"What's happening?" Josh screamed, holding onto me as I watched in shock. 

"Someone get them to the lounge," Dr. Swan snapped, following the cart into the room. A nurse appeared and began herding us down the hall. In the lounge Josh clung to me, sobbing. 

"What's happening? What's happening to him?" Josh sobbed, wetting the front of my shirt. 

"I don't know," I answered, running my hands in circles over his back. "I don't know, Josh, but he has all those people, all those doctors, in there. He'll be ok." 

"Did you hear what he said?" Josh asked, his voice barely a squeak as he began to sob harder. 

"He didn't mean it, Josh," I said, holding him as he shook against me, sobbing painfully. "That wasn't Jack." 

Josh didn't answer. He let out an inarticulate, strangled cry against me, but no words. I held him, unsure of what else to do, and then I felt another set of arms around us, as Chris grabbed him from the other side. I felt another, and Joey was at my side, followed by Lance, and even by Howie, all of us holding onto Josh, lending our strength to him as we drew it from each other. No matter what else, in the end we are always a family, always there for each other, and we were still holding on when Dr. Swan walked in. We let go, staring at him, trying to read his face. 

"His condition is stable, for now," Dr. Swan said. "Would anyone like to tell me what happened?" 

"He started to wake up, but then he kind of collapsed," Chris answered, shrugging. "He talked a little, but not really, you know, like he was totally with it." 

"I see," Dr. Swan answered. 

"Can we see him?" Josh asked. 

"Not all together again," Dr. Swan answered. "I'd like for him to only have one visitor at a time, and you are not to do anything, in any way, to excite him. I'm not saying this to be unkind. I'm saying that you might put him at further risk of another attack if you do not follow my directives. We're going to give him until tonight to wake up, and when he does we'll try giving him some protein shakes, to see if he can keep anything down. If he hasn't woken up, I'm going to have a feeding tube inserted." 

"OK," Joey said, looking down. The rest of us just nodded, and then Dr. Swan left the room. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take the first shift. Justin, take Josh and go get him some food. The rest of you can go if you want, too, but keep your phones on, and make sure at least one of us knows where you are if you're not going to be here in the lounge, ok?" 

"I'm not hungry," Josh said, shaking his head. 

"Not an option," Joey said firmly, taking Josh's chin in his hands. "I know you and Justin didn't get to eat today, and all the rest of us did. Go get something to eat." 

We split up as Joey walked back down the hall to Jack's room, nodding to Hank as he walked inside. Lance and Howie opted to stay in the lounge, because they wanted to talk, which was fine with me, since I didn't want to sit at a table that close to Howie with Josh and Lance so upset already. Chris waited for Vlada, who passed Joey a coffee, and then handed the rest around to the others before following Chris to the chapel. I was surprised to hear Chris say he was going there, but people can do surprising things under extreme circumstances. 

Josh and I sat in the cafeteria, listlessly picking at the food, which was very good but seemed oddly tasteless. I watched Josh, scanned his face for any signs of what he was thinking, but didn't want to push. Josh's heart wasn't mine to question anymore. He had Jack back, and didn't need me, or so I thought. Josh surprised me by taking my hand suddenly. 

"Justin, I'm sorry," he said again, staring into my eyes. His were watering, and I blinked, to keep mine clear. "I never wanted to hurt you, and I told you I couldn't love you the way you loved me. I'm sorry this turned out like this, Justin." 

"It's ok, Josh," I lied. "I knew what I was getting into, but I guess I just kind of hoped, sort of, that Jack wouldn't ever come back. I know it sounds mean, with the way he is now, but when I thought he left, I just kind of hoped that you'd get over him, and that you'd learn to love me." 

"I know, and I'm sorry," Josh said. He swallowed. "I think I could have, Justin. I think if I'd had time, I could have loved you that way someday. I still love Jack, though. He still has that place in my heart. He's still the other half of me, Justin. You have to know that." 

I nodded, feeling the hot, burning tears I'd been fighting so hard not to shed finally spill over my cheeks. 

"I know, Josh," I said. "And you have to go back to him, because it's where you belong. You belong with Jack. I'll always love you, but it'll be as friends, and that's the way it should be. You'll need these, though." 

I saw Josh's eyes widen in surprise as I pressed the silver bands into his hand. He'd left them on the dresser at my house one night when he slept there, having brought them from his house for some reason, and I'd seen them this morning when we were packing. Josh, in his haste, had forgotten to pack them, but I knew he'd want them. He looked down at the rings, resting there in his palm, the little nick still not smoothed out of Jack's, and looked up at me, his eyes watering. His face shifted, as if he was about to say something, but I'll never know what it was, because Joey called us then, to tell us Jack was awake. We raced upstairs, hurrying down the hall, waiting for Chris to leave. 

I watched through the window in the door as Josh and Jack held each other, crying, back together, and then I turned away, not wanting to see anymore. The others stood in the hall, watching me. 

"Justin?" Chris asked. 

"I'll be in the lounge," I answered. I wanted to be alone, because now I was, and I would be for a long, long time. 

 

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