Date: Mon, 10 Dec 2001 08:34:12 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 30

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

And now, let's continue.

***

"Jesus," Chris said, pulling his door open. "You look like hell."

"Thanks," I muttered, stepping back. "It's great to see you, too."

I had only glanced at myself in the mirror this morning, but I had to agree
with Chris. I did look like hell, because I had barely slept last
night. After the first dream, I had tried to get back to sleep, but that
dream had apparently just been a warmup. I was hit with endless dreams
about newspapers, scissors, and greeting cards, as well as one particularly
disturbing one where a photographer kept jumping out from behind things and
blinding me with a flashbulb. As creepy as those dreams were, though, they
were nothing compared to the sexual ones. In one dream Josh was on his
knees in front of Justin, in another it was Lance in front of me again, and
my brain invented every other possible combination of the four of us as
well.

"You ok?" Chris asked. "You sure you want to run today?"

"I'm fine," I lied. In actual truth, I didn't want to go running that
morning, but I thought maybe it would help me focus my thoughts, or maybe
clear them for a while.  "Aren't you supposed to be leading a model out to
a cab right now?"

Chris smiled.

"I took a night off," he said, laughing. "Joey and I met some nice girls,
so I let him take them both home."

I gaped at him, and he began to laugh.

"God you're gullible!" he said. "Ready?"

"Sure," I said.

We ran in silence for a while, watching the neighborhood wake up. I noticed
bitterly that it looked like everyone else had gotten a full night's sleep,
and Chris kept giving me these weird sidelong glances when he should have
been looking forward. He almost ran into about four light poles before he
brought himself to speak.

"So, how is JC doing with his family?" Chris asked.

"Good," I answered.

"Everything's going well, then?" Chris asked.

"Yeah," I answered again. I caught him glaring at me, and I realized I
wasn't being especially verbal. "Sorry. Josh is still at Heather's right
now. They had a long talk yesterday, and I guess she's ok with everything."

"That's good," he said, smiling. "I'm glad. Did you talk to her?"

"To Heather?" I asked. "No, I haven't talked to any of Josh's family. He
waited until she was in bed to call, because they were up late. He said she
had questions about me, but I guess he answered them."

"She's a good kid," Chris said. "All three of them are. His parents did a
good job on them."

"Chris, do you know Josh's family pretty well?" I asked. It sounded like he
did.

"More or less," he said. "You still worried about him telling them?"

"A little," I said. "I don't want him to get hurt, especially not by people
he loves."

"What a coincidence," Chris said, giving me one of those sidelong glances
again.  "Because I don't want him hurt by someone he loves, either."

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to have this discussion, either. We
ran along in silence again, the only sounds from us the thumping of our
feet on the sidewalk. I prayed that the run would be over soon, before he
decided to push. I began to run a little faster, but Chris was a strong
enough runner to easily match my pace, keeping us in conversational
distance. I wouldn't be able to put any distance between us unless I broke
into a sprint, and that would be a little conspicuous. Looking around, I
realized that we only had a mile left, until Chris took the turn that made
our three mile run into five. He glanced at me, to see if I'd react, but I
wasn't going to. If he could play this game, so could I.

We both began to run a little faster, which was rough, since we were
entering the uphill portion. Straining because we were near the end, we
were also running much harder than our usual pace at this part. Where we
would normally be sweating some, and enjoying the exertion, today we were
straining, breath hissing between gritted teeth as what seemed like gallons
of water poured out of us. We were racing each other, pounding the
sidewalk, but what exactly were we racing toward? I wasn't sure, but I
wasn't going to let Chris win. It was a grudge match now. I don't know
which one of us started it, but neither one of us was willing to lose.

When we finally reached the apartment building, both of us were ready to
drop. Chris was leaning heavily against the wall, trying to catch his
breath, and I sank onto one of the lounge chairs, doubled over from a
stitch in my side. The two of us continued to glare at each other, even
though I was pretty sure I was going to either throw up all over my shoes
or just pass out on the chair.

"I, need, water," Chris gasped, holding out his hand. I grabbed it, and he
pulled me up off the chair. "Come on."

"I have water upstairs," I growled, as if I'd be able to climb the stairs
any time in the next couple of minutes.

"The only way you're getting out of this is if you have a fucking stroke,"
Chris said.

I thought I could tire him out, but all I'd done was piss him off. Damn. I
followed wordlessly into his apartment, and slumped against the wall by the
door.  Chris pulled himself a bottle of water out of the refrigerator,
which I noticed was also filled with beer, and tossed me a bottle as
well. I took small sips, fighting the burning in my lungs to get my
breathing back under control. Chris leaned on the kitchen counter,
apparently not willing to sit if I wasn't.

"Say it, Chris," I said finally, as we stared at each other. "Just say it."

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked. He didn't sound mad, but it was hard
to tell with us still panting.

"What?" I asked. That wasn't the question I was expecting.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Chris asked again. "I can hear everything that
goes on upstairs, Jack, and you know it. I listened to you walking around,
pacing the bedroom, all night last night, and that time you woke up
screaming, well, I heard that, too."

"I'm fine," I said again, looking away.

"You can't lie for shit, Jack," Chris said, walking over to one of the
couches. He sat, and stared at me. I walked over and sat on the back of the
other couch. "Look, Jack, I'm not trying to push, but it's obvious that
something is bothering you. Please, man, just let it out."

I wanted to, I really did, but what could I say? I found myself wanting to
protect Justin, because he was my friend even though I thought what he was
doing was wrong.  I wanted to protect Lance, because his secret wasn't mine
to share. I didn't want to say anything to anyone else about it before I
said anything to them, but I didn't really want to talk to them,
either. And then there was my mysterious, almost threatening pen pal,
another issue that I really didn't even want to think about getting into.

"I can't, Chris," I said finally, looking down. "I just can't get into it."

"Why the hell not?" Chris asked. He sounded exasperated. "Jack, why are you
keeping so many secrets?"

"Who says I'm keeping secrets?" I asked, as if saying it might make it
true.

"Jack, I'm not stupid," he said. "Remember, I spent a whole morning driving
you around for something that you won't tell me about. If you don't want to
answer, why don't you just say so? Lying is kind of rude."

"Look, Chris," I began, chastened. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

"And some are!" he snapped. "You promised me you would tell JC. Did you?"

"Not exactly," I said, looking away again. Why couldn't he just yell and
scream like a normal person?

"Not exactly?" Chris said. "Jack, you either told him, or you didn't. Did
you tell him?"

"No, I didn't," I said quietly, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Damn it, Jack!" Chris said, standing. He walked around the couch, back and
forth, waving his hands in the air. "You promised me, Jack. You promised
that you would tell JC."

"I'm going to," I said defensively. "It just wasn't the right time, and
then he left."

"How convenient for you," Chris said quickly. "You fucking lied to me,
Jack."

"Maybe what's going on is none of your business," I countered, tired of
being yelled at.  "Maybe I didn't tell you about it because it doesn't
affect you."

"If it affects JC, it affects me," Chris said. "Jack, I'm trying to be your
friend right now."

"Maybe I don't need a friend right now!" I blurted, thinking of Justin and
Lance, and my stalker, who had to be someone I knew. "Maybe I don't even
know who my friends are here."

"If you don't, I'm not going to tell you," Chris said. "Keep your damn
secrets, then, if they're so fucking important to you, but I'm all done
helping."

I stared at him.

"I mean it, Jack," he said. "Just go. When you remember who your friends
are, and you're ready to let me help you, come back. If you're just going
to keep lying, stay the fuck away from me. And remember what I told you
about hurting JC."

"I will," I said harshly, standing. "Thanks for the water."

When I walked out of Chris's apartment, I wanted to cry. Either that, or
punch the wall until my hands bled. Maybe I wanted to do both.

"Damn it!" I yelled, smacking the railing with my hand as I climbed the
stairs. "Fucking damn it!"

I crawled into the shower, resolving once again to sort this all out.

OK, first things first, I needed to address the Justin and Lance situation.
Obviously I needed to talk to Justin first, and make him understand that
what he was doing was wrong. I could talk to Lance after that, but I wasn't
sure what I'd say to him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen to. Facing
those feelings for the first time was obviously a little rough for him, so
maybe he needed a friend. Maybe he'd let me be one, but I had to approach
the whole thing pretty carefully. Justin was doing enough damage without me
there to do more.

Then there was the issue of my stalker. I needed to build a suspect list,
quickly, and start crossing people off of it. That was the most logical way
to go about it. It had to be someone I knew, and someone nearby.

I could rule out Josh, of course, and felt pretty sure that I could rule
out Joey and Chris as well. They had no motive at all. Joey hadn't really
been around enough, and when he had been, he'd been very nice to me, and
seemed very happy for Josh. Then again, the letters hadn't started until
Joey had returned from New York. Maybe I shouldn't rule Joey out after
all. He could have just been nice all along to keep me from suspecting
him. If I couldn't rule out Joey, I couldn't rule out Chris, either. I knew
for certain that Chris had all the publications the pictures were in,
because I borrowed the paper from him every day. On the other hand, all the
pictures were still in the paper when Chris gave it to me, but that didn't
mean he couldn't have a second copy. He had helped me track some of this
down the other day, but he might have just been monitoring my
investigation, and he did keep pushing me to tell Josh what was going
on. Maybe he was trying to drive us to a fight.

If I couldn't rule out Joey and Chris, then I really needed to take a
closer look at Justin and Lance. Justin was more than capable of
manipulating others. I couldn't think of a reason why he would want to
split up Josh and I, unless he thought I was bad for Josh somehow. Or maybe
he just wanted to keep Josh in thrall to him. After all, if he'd known all
along that Lance was looking at him and secretly wanting him, he must have
known for the last year that Josh was in love with him. Sure, they hadn't
acted on it, but it was the kind of thing Justin would use if he had
to. Still, this thing with the cards didn't really seem like Justin's
style. From what I'd seen with the way he and Britney strung each other
along, the way he'd thrown himself between Josh and I, and what he was
doing with Lance, Justin was a hands-on type of guy. This was almost too
subtle for him, and didn't let him play off of his looks or his body.

However, it would be the perfect approach for someone less attractive,
someone like Lance. Lance had some glaring psychological issues, so this
kind of psycho behavior was easily imaginable as his handiwork. Even my
subconscious seemed to think so, based on that creepy dream. He also had
anger to spare, and had been throwing it at Josh and I since we told him
about us. Maybe, seeing that the direct approach was failing, and only
pushing us closer together, he had decided on a different tack, but why?
Breaking us up wouldn't turn Josh straight again, but maybe Lance secretly
wanted Josh for himself.  After all, if I were in the band and secretly
gay, I'd have a crush on the hottest member.  Even if it was Lance, though,
there was the issue of the very first card. It had been mailed from near my
home, and Lance had been here that whole time.

It's a little known fact that you can mail an envelope, already addressed
and stamped, inside another envelope to the postmaster of any city. The
postmaster, finding your envelope inside, is bound by his job to take it
out and mail it, and suddenly you have a postmark from anywhere, which
might actually be nowhere close to where the letter actually came from. I
knew that, because I'd read it in one of the many police and crime books
that I read for fun, but was that the kind of esoteric knowledge that Lance
would have? And if he was going to do that, why not just pick my town? That
also didn't explain the handwriting. My first thought had been that the
handwriting, even though it was block letters and all capitals, was
familiar. I didn't know any of the guys well enough to recognize their
handwriting, so it really stood to reason that the writer must be someone I
knew, someone who lived close to me.

Someone like Carla? Wait, was I actually freaked out by this enough to
suspect my best friend? Just because she knew about Josh and I, and lived
close enough to have mailed the first one, and had handwriting that I would
recognize, what was her motive? Maybe insane jealousy. After all, she
hadn't been on a successful date in years.  Maybe the thought of me finding
someone and being happy had caused her to snap somehow. She could be right
outside, watching and waiting right now. She hadn't answered her phone in
days, and the number of beeps on her answering machine suggested that she
was out of town, and hadn't been home to check her messages for a
while. There was the letter that implied the author wasn't sure which guy I
was with, but that could just have been Carla trying to throw suspicion off
of herself. The security guy at the studio had said it was a guy, but Carla
could throw on a hooded sweatshirt, a hat, and glasses, and pass herself
off for a guy, maybe, especially if it was only for a minute or two.

I shook my head under the shower spray, wondering if spending this much
time in California was making me insane. I'd have to be, to think Carla was
some sort of scary stalker. It was just as likely that I was sleepwalking
down the street to the post office and mailing these to myself. But if it
wasn't Carla, and it wasn't one of the guys, who was it?

Who else would hate me enough to do this?

I turned off the shower, and got dressed, trying to figure out how I could
apologize to Chris. Really the only way I could was to tell him what was
going on, and why I hadn't told Josh, but I didn't want to. I wanted to
handle this whole stalker thing myself.  Someone was fucking with me, not
Josh or the band, me personally, and I wanted to take care of it
myself. Maybe it wasn't the best reason to keep things from my friends, but
it was my secret to keep, damn it. And the thing with Lance just wasn't my
secret to tell.  Chris might make it fairly public who he was playing
around with, but I had to respect Lance's right not to do the same.

I decided that I'd start solving my problems immediately, and went to
Justin's door. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but I thought maybe
the words would just come, and I'd get by ok. I knocked for about a minute,
but he didn't answer the door, so I figured he wasn't home. I looked over
toward Lance's door, wondering if I should look for him there, but suddenly
felt sick at the thought, and decided to go down to the archway to pick up
the mail. Maybe Josh had gotten a magazine or something that would take my
mind off what was going on around here.

As I walked over to the mail bins, I saw a bright green corner sticking out
of the door to Josh's box. The corner was a little crumpled, as if someone
had tried to force it into the mailbox, and when I pulled it out, I
realized that was exactly what had happened. I recognized from the
handwriting that it was another note from my stalker, but it hadn't been
delivered by the mailman. It didn't have a postmark, or a return address,
and on the front of the envelope all that was written was my name. I
wondered for a second why they hadn't just shoved it under my door if they
could get this far, but then realized that they mustn't have been able to
get through the inside gate, which blocked the courtyard from the street.

They had brought this to the apartment. They knew where I lived.

Shoving the rest of the mail back in the box, I tore open the
envelope. This one didn't contain a card, but instead had a glossy
photograph of Justin and I, eating our sandwiches at the outside tables of
the bistro. It wasn't a clipping. It was an actual photograph, from
someone's camera. I turned it over, barely noticing that my hand was
shaking.

"I see you," the top line read.

I almost dropped the picture as I jerked my head up, looking around the
street. Old lady walking her dog, guy on a bike, twenty or so parked cars,
cars going by, my brain noted as my eyes ticked over the surroundings. I
didn't think I knew any of these people, but I couldn't see into every car
parked on the street. He could be out there, right now, anywhere nearby. I
hadn't been scared yet, treating this as kind of a game, but I was now.  I
felt like the heroine in a bad horror movie, and wondered how long it would
be before I was spinning in a circle with my arms out, screaming, "What are
you waiting for?" My eyes dropped down to the photograph to read the rest
as my other hand fumbled for my keys, knowing I'd need them to get back
inside the relative safety of the courtyard.

"I see you. Do you see me yet? You should, because I know you, and I know
what's going on. I think it's time we met face to face, don't you? We're so
overdue for a chat."

Below that was an address I didn't recognize, and below that the phrase,
"Last booth."  The stalker had also left a note with a date and time, two
days from now. I was stuffing the picture back into the envelope when I
felt a hand settle onto my shoulder.  I spun, fists out, and collided with
Joey.

"Jack!" he yelped, jumping back. "Jesus, Jack, are you ok?"

I stared at Joey, realizing that I had missed punching him in the face by
about four inches, and I just lost it. Sliding down the wall, I crossed my
arms over my knees, put my head down on them, and just broke down and
started crying. Suddenly it was all too much, all of it.

"Jack?" Joey asked again, squatting down. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"No," I sobbed. "No, I'm not ok."

I didn't look up, but I could hear the concern in his voice.

"Do you, um, do you want to talk about it?" Joey asked, rubbing my back in
slow, soothing circles.

"Chris and I had this fight," I began, "and I miss Josh, and I can't sleep,
and there's all this other shit going on, and I just can't deal with any of
it right now."

Joey sighed, and then gently took both of my arms.

"Come on," he said, tugging me to my feet.

"Where are we going?" I asked, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.
I still held the envelope.

"Just come on," Joey said, leading me back inside and then across the
courtyard.

We walked to Joey's apartment, him still leading me, but not talking, and I
realized that I had never been inside of his. I hadn't been in Lance's,
either, but I liked Joey. He opened the door, and I saw that it was mostly
identical to the others, except that there were Superman posters on all of
the walls. I remembered reading somewhere that Joey was a collector of
Superman memorabilia, and I smiled. How could you feel unsafe with Superman
staring at you from all sides at once? Joey led me through the living room
to his guest bedroom, and pointed at the bed.

"Lay down," he said.

"Why?" I asked, suspicious. I was too tired suddenly, and felt too drained,
to think of what he might do.

"Because I said so," he said. Joey could look very determined when he
wanted to. "Lay down, and take a nap, and I'll come wake you when lunch is
ready."

"I don't need a nap," I said stubbornly.

Joey blocked the door with his body.

"Then you just lay there, and calm down, and wait until I come get you," he
said, crossing his arms. "Got it?"

I climbed onto the bed, feeling foolish, as Joey closed the blinds, and
then closed the door. I lay with my head on the pillow, staring at the
wall, and realized I was still holding the green envelope. I put it on the
nightstand, not wanting to look at it any more, and turned my head the
other way. Before I knew it, and despite my insistence that I didn't need a
nap, the next time I opened my eyes was when Joey gently shook me awake. I
looked around blearily and realized that the room was a lot darker than
when I had come in.

"Lunchtime?" I asked, sitting up. I could feel that I had red crease lines
on my face from the pillowcase.

"You slept all the way through lunch," Joey said. "It's time for dinner."

"Joey, I'm sorry," I began, sliding out of bed.

"Don't be," he said, walking toward the main room. "I ate lunch without
you, and you needed the rest. Let's eat."

I followed Joey to the dinner table, and saw a bowl of pasta, a half loaf
of garlic bread, and a bowl of salad. The table was set, but not in Josh's
usual artful arrangement, with the candles and everything in just the right
place and the napkins folded into birds. Joey set the table like any guy
living alone. The food was there, and the plates were out, but there wasn't
anything extra or fancy. The only concession was a pair of Superman salt
and pepper shakers. The rest of the dishes, I knew, came with the
apartment.

Joey handed me a beer from the refrigerator, and the two of us dug in.

"This is really good," I said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks," Joey said. "It's just pasta. The sauce came from a jar, and the
bread was in the freezer."

"That doesn't make it any less good," I said.

We kept eating, and I wondered why Joey hadn't broached the obvious yet.

"Joey, are you going to ask me what's wrong?" I asked finally.

He looked up from his plate.

"No," Joey answered, and went back to eating.

"Why not?" I asked, curious.

"Because you'll tell me if you need to," he said, shrugging. "Besides, I
don't think it's what you need right now. You and Chris got in a fight
about whatever's bothering you, right?"

"Yeah," I answered.

"He'll get over it," Joey said, shrugging again. "If you want to have the
same argument twice in one day, then fine, I'll ask."

"No, thanks," I said. "I'm sorry for crashing on you like this."

"I told you before not to apologize," Joey said, taking another sip of his
beer.

"But it's so unlike me," I said, feeling uncomfortable with the
memory. Joey exuded such a warm presence that I couldn't help but talk to
him, whether I wanted to or not.

"I know," he said, going back to his food.

"But you don't even really know me," I said, confused. How could he know
what was or wasn't like me?

"I know of you," Joey said. "Since I got here, all I've heard about is you,
from JC, and Chris, and Justin, and yes, even Lance, and I think I have a
pretty good idea of what you're like. I'm willing to bet that whatever it
is you're sitting on, you're doing it because you really think it's for the
best, and I respect that. I can also see that whatever it is that you're
holding onto is eating you up, and I hope you'll do something to solve it,
quick. If you don't, well, I guess I'll still be around to help put you
back together, at least until JC gets back."

"You know all that, and you and I have never even really hung out," I said,
finding it all hard to believe.

"Like I said, I know of you," Joey said. "And I know you'd do the same for
me, or for any of us."

We finished dinner in silence. Afterward, Joey put a movie in, and I stayed
to watch it.  About halfway through, Josh called, asking Joey if I was
there, and I realized I had left the cell phone in our apartment. I talked
to Josh for a little while, explaining that I was hanging out with Joey,
and taking the phone into the back bedroom. Josh told me all about the day
he had spent with his sister, and how they had talked some more, and how
she really was ok with everything. He also told me he was flying out to
Chicago to see his parents and brother the next morning, early, so I let
him get to bed.  When I hung up, I was hit with a crushing sense of loss,
and realized again how badly I missed Josh.

When I walked back into the living room, the movie had ended, and Joey was
turning things off to go to bed.

"I'm going to turn in," he said, staring at me. "If you want to go home,
you can, or you can just crash in the spare room there if you want to."

I realized again that I felt very safe and secure with Joey.

"You don't mind?" I asked.

"I mind that you keep asking," Joey said. "I wouldn't offer if it bothered
me."

"Thank you, Joey," I said, suddenly very touched.

Joey walked over and squeezed me in another of his bone-crushing hugs.

"This is all going to work out, Jack," he said. "Now get some sleep."

I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the guest bed, thinking again
of how safe I felt. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was that
Joey was right, and it was all going to work out, because I was going to
make it work.

I was going to talk to Justin in the morning whether he wanted to or not.

***

More to come soon.