Part 5


Justin sat on the couch, hands tucked under his legs, his body rocking back and forth a bit, his eyes unfocused. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. JC couldn’t be gone. Missing. Possibly taken. Kidnapped. Justin wriggled his fingers a bit, pinching down hard on his thighs, wincing at the pain. He wasn’t asleep. It wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

JC was missing.

Justin focused on the people in the room. There were police officers setting up a tap on the phone. Johnny and Lynn were in discussion over by the kitchen. Lance and Chris were in opposite corners, each talking on their cells. Lonnie was pacing throughout the room. Trace was slumped in a chair next to Justin, the white bandage on his head shining brightly in the room.

Justin tried to understand what everyone was saying, but the sounds were muffled, like there was cotton stuck in his ears. His mind flew back, trying to make sense of what had happened, what seemed to have happened.

JC had gone with Lonnie to the grocery store. While gone, the police had called Justin, telling him that Trace was in the emergency room. Justin and Eric and Mike had gone to the ER, found out that Trace had been carjacked, and could Justin just take him home now? They’d gotten Trace home, and had found Detective Kirby and Matthews waiting for them. Lonnie had told the detectives that Trace had driven off with JC, at least, it had been Trace’s car, but because Trace was here…where was JC? Lonnie demanded. Trace told the detectives about the car jacking, and they all realized that JC was gone.

It still made no sense to Justin. Why was JC taken? Justin was the one this psycho hated. Justin was the one blamed for JC’s album being delayed. Justin was the one that should be in danger, not JC. JC was the innocent in this. He looked around, spying the front door. He’d go find JC. He’d go…

“Stop blaming yourself.”

Justin blinked, turning toward the sound of Chris’s voice. The Nsyncer had sat next to Justin without him realizing it. “It’s my fault,” Justin’s voice was tortured.

Chris grasped Justin’s shoulder, pulling him close. “No, it’s not, Justin,” Chris said, whispering the words into Justin’s ear. “This is not your fault. This is some sick, twisted person’s doing, not yours.”

“But if I hadn’t…”

“No.”

“But…”

“No,” Chris said again, pulling Justin up and looking him square in the eyes. “This is what this person wants, Justin. To make you responsible for their actions.” Chris gave a shaky smile. “You’re not responsible, Justin. JC knows that. He doesn’t, wouldn’t ever, blame you.”

Justin blinked as the hot tears stung his eyes. Chris saw them, and bundled Justin close to his chest, rubbing Justin’s back soothingly. “We’ll get him back, J,” Chris told him. “JC’s smart. He’ll take care of himself.”

“I love him, Chris,” Justin said, his words muffled against Chris’ chest. “I love him so much.”

Chris just held Justin closer.

***

JC rattled the handcuff chained to his wrist.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him, he realized. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d had Justin cuffed to their bed, JC playing Justin’s body like a violin, making the younger man sing with ecstasy.

Now JC was wearing a handcuff, but it was not for the same purposes. And he was not chained to a bed. He was sitting in a basement, attached to a pipe, sitting in a hard wooden chair. The air was damp and the pipes creaked and he was sure he heard mice or even worse scurrying in the dark. JC also realized he should be afraid, but he wasn’t. He was angry.

He should be scared, but instead, he was royally pissed off.

He should be going crazy with fright, but was instead, absolutely, incredibly, over-the-top incensed.

Not to mention, plain old fucking mad.

Sure he’d been nervous when he’d seen the gun. Who wouldn’t have been? He really thought the psycho had Trace, and figured he’d better go along. But he soon realized that Trace was in no danger, and he’d been stupid, absolutely, overwhelmingly stupid to have gotten into the car.

So, JC was angry at himself as well as his captor. He jiggled the handcuff again, looking around at the system of pipes in the basement. He rose from the chair, climbing up on it, looking for a likely joint or bolt or any sign of weakness. JC spotted a rusty joint, saying a quick prayer before he lifted his free hand and attempted to unscrew it. Blinking away the rust that fell in his eyes, he smiled as it moved a bit. Then a bit more, then…

The door to the basement opened, and JC jumped off the chair, sitting back down quickly as footsteps came down the stairs. He slumped in the chair, trying to calm his breathing down. He looked up, trying to make out his captor in the gloomy light of the basement. JC had only gotten a glimpse before he’d been left alone down here, remembering the person had been swathed in glasses and a hoodie. He saw his captor was still dressed like that, but a tray of food replaced the gun.

“Who are you?” JC asked. “Why are you doing this? Is Trace okay?”

The pale lips smiled slightly. “I brought you something to eat.”

The tray was placed at JC’s feet. His eyes widened at the sight of the sushi and Chinese food and a small bottle of wine. “What is this?” he asked.

The smile faltered a bit. “All your favorites,” came the reply. “There’s even mint-chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.”

“Is this a joke?” JC asked. “Why are you keeping me here? Who are you?”

The hooded head shook from side to side. “No, not a joke. I’ll make you as comfortable as possible, but this is the only way, JC. You’ll see, it’s the only way.”

JC rose from the chair, lunging for his captor as far as his cuffed hand would allow. “The only way for what?” he demanded. “What is all this for?” he demanded, rattling the handcuff.

“The only way to help you,” came the reply. “This way, Justin will be forced to tell the truth, that he’s keeping your album from being released.”

JC shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he said. “Justin has nothing to do with my album delay. I’ve said that over and over…why can’t you believe that?”

The hooded head cocked to the side. “Why do you keep protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him,” JC said through gritted teeth. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“He told you your album wouldn’t ever get released unless you keep lying, I bet,” his captor said, sitting down on the floor and picking up a piece of food from the tray. “I can just see him doing that.”

JC sighed. “Do you not hear correctly? Or are you just stupid?”

The hooded head snapped up, and even from behind the dark glasses, JC could feel the heat of his captor’s eyes. “I’m not stupid, JC, and I hear perfectly.” The thin, pale lips smiled again. “I love your songs, JC. They deserved to be heard by everyone.” Another piece of sushi was eaten. “Justin-Fucking-Timberlake will learn he can’t control everyone, can’t make your life miserable, and will tell the world that he’s behind your album delay.”

JC blinked. This was surreal. He was not sitting in a basement, having a conversation with a psycho who was calmly eating his sushi and telling him that Justin was responsible for everything that was bad in the world, including, he figured, global warming. He pulled on the handcuff again. No, it was happening. He was here. He watched warily as the hooded figure rose from the floor, pushing the remaining food closer to JC. “Eat,” his captor said before climbing the basement stairs.

JC wasted no time. He kicked the tray of food out of the way and jumped up on the chair, his hand finding the rusty bolt and attempting to unscrew it. Again, it moved just a bit. He blinked the dust out of his eyes, his fingers grasping the metal again and twisting. This time it moved a bit more, but his hand slipped, causing him to almost fall from the chair. JC looked around the basement, spying the napkin on the tray of food. Snatching it up, he went back to work at the pipe.

“Come on…come on,” he whispered as the pipes moved apart. “Got it!” he said, pulling down on the side that the handcuff was attached to, slipping the silver hoop off the pipe. He jumped off the chair, rushing to the stairs…

…only to find the door locked. “Son of a bitch!” he said, trying the knob again. He pressed his ear against the door, hoping to hear something, another voice maybe and he could call out, but he heard nothing. JC went back down the stairs, surveying the rest of the basement. Where was this light coming from? he wondered. Moving boxes out of the way, JC spied the window high up on the wall. He pulled the chair over to the wall, climbing up and finding the sill painted shut, but who cares? It was a window. Again shifting the boxes around, he found a hammer. He was just about to hit the glass when he paused, wondering if the shattering of the window would alert his captor. Not willing to take a chance and be caught before he could escape, JC rummaged again, finding an old blanket. He covered the window with the blanket, then softly, but with some force, hit the glass with the hammer. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five…it broke. The glass was painted and stuck together and once broken, was easy to push out of the frame.

With a last look at the basement, JC heaved himself up the wall and out the window.

***

Justin was out the car door before it had even stopped. He’s spied JC across the lawn and sprinted toward him, smashing into the other man and grabbing him in a huge embrace. “Oh, god, oh god, oh god,” Justin said over and over again. “Are you okay? Oh god, are you hurt? Are you okay? Oh god.”

JC’s arms closed around Justin’s shaking frame, pulling them both to the grass. “Shh, it’s okay,” he told Justin. “I’m okay.”

Justin lifted his head. “Why are you still here? I want you home!”

JC laughed at Justin’s petulant voice. “I didn’t get the address, so I had to show the police where the house was,” he explained. JC wiped the tears from Justin’s face. “I can go home now.”

“Did they catch the psycho?” Justin asked as JC pulled him off the grass.

JC shook his head. “Not here by the time the police arrived. And the house is an abandoned one, owned by the city and scheduled for demolition, so no clues there.”

Justin turned toward the dwelling, finally noticing something other than JC. “You were here?” he asked, noting the boarded and broken house.

“In the basement,” JC told him, pointing to a low window surrounded by police investigators. “It was the creepiest thing, Justin. The psycho looked like the Unibomber, in a hoodie and glasses, and brought me food. Sushi and wine and ice cream, like all they ever read was J-14.”

Justin shuddered. “But why?” he asked, pulling JC close again. Justin was still shaking, and he hoped holding onto JC would calm him down a bit. “I can’t believe you were kidnapped like that, to get to me.” He kissed JC’s hand, lifting it to his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Jayce.”

“Not your fault, baby,” he told Justin. “It was a ploy, a way to force you into telling the truth,” JC said. “That’s the explanation I got.”

Justin nodded. “We’d just gotten a phone call when the police notified us you were safe,” he told JC. Justin’s fingers lifted, smoothing JC’s hair down and lingering on his face. “I’d never prayed so hard in my life,” he said simply. “All I could do was ask for you to come home to me. And you did. You got away, all on your own. Like an action hero!”

JC laughed. “Not exactly an action hero,” he scoffed. “But I don’t think I’ll be ready to have you use our new handcuffs on me any time soon,” he told Justin, rubbing his wrist where the cuff had been.

“You were handcuffed?”

JC turned them away from the crowd on the sidewalk and kissed Justin lightly. “I’m okay,” he told the younger man again. “Let’s go…” JC’s voice trailed off as he saw a figure standing among the crowd. It was a girl, a slight, pale girl, who seemed surprised that JC was standing on the grass of this house. Her eyes were wide with shock; her thin, pale lips opened in astonishment as her eyes met JC’s.

His captor had returned.



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