Date: Fri, 15 Feb 2002 16:36:37 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 67

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.

This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with
Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and
tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.

At long last, and by popular demand.

***Jack***

None of this would have happened if I had just quit smoking like Josh
wanted me to. I could blame Chris, I guess, since he usually provided
cigarettes, but really, it wasn't his fault. He was about as much to blame
as DiCaprio, although Chris gave them to me with more frequency. Still,
when we went out, it was just hard not to grab a cigarette. It's not like I
smoked all the time, just socially, and even then usually only when I was
stressed.  Before anyone asks, I was stressed because we had to fly out in
the morning, and I had no idea of what I was flying into. I had never been
to Florida, didn't know anyone there besides the guys, and had no job. I
was working on it, and assumed I'd meet some people there, but still, I was
feeling a little unsettled, which is how I found myself following some guys
from the bathroom out into the side alley, where I bummed a cigarette off
of them.

They seemed like cool enough guys, if a little drunk and frat boyish. One
of them recognized me after we were in the alley, and they began to ask me
lots of questions, not about Josh, but about Britney Spears. Straight boys
are so much fun when they're drunk.

"So you've like, touched her?" one of them asked, as the other three
waited, standing around him at attention.

Not as much as I touched her boyfriend, I thought, smirking. They didn't
need to hear that little tidbit, thanks, although it might be worth it to
see their faces.

"Not only touched her, I've hugged her," I answered, grinning around my
cigarette.

"Ohhhhh!" the four guys cheered, high-fiving each other, and then me, as if
by touching my hand they might be touching her in some frightening six
degrees of Kevin Bacon way.

"Dude, what does she smell like?" one of them asked, so drunk he could
barely stand, leaning heavily on one of the others.

"Soap," I answered, giggling. Their reactions were priceless. "Oh, and
perfume. You know, the floral kind. The strong stuff."

For the life of me I couldn't name a single feminine perfume. What use did
Josh and I have for them? Ask me what he smelled like, and I could give you
a full rundown of the bottles we shared in the bathroom. Still, the guys
seemed to know what I meant, and continued grinning. We talked about
Britney for several minutes, the guys wanting to hear every tiny detail of
what she wore, what she ate, and how she looked. I wasn't really sharing
anything intimate, nothing they couldn't get from an article in Cosmo Girl,
so I didn't feel bad telling them that Britney liked salad and only drank
diet soda. Eventually, the guys decided that they wanted to go back in, so
I bummed another cigarette off of them and wished them a good night.

As I took a slow inhale, savoring it, wondering why I had ragged on Carla
all those times that we ran and she lit up afterward, I heard my phone
ring. "I lie awake, I drive myself crazy," the notes chimed. Every time I
heard it I smiled, and when I pulled it out, I saw that it was Josh. I saw
the time at the bottom, and realized I'd been gone for quite a while.  I
debated answering the phone, but realized that I'd have to explain where I
was, and would have to listen to a lecture that would suck all of the joy
out of the cigarette, which was probably the last one I'd get before we saw
Chris. I sighed, holding the phone, but never got a chance to decide if I
wanted to answer it or not. I was probably one button push, less than a
second, really, away from preventing all of this from happening, and I
couldn't answer the phone because I was being selfish and petty.

Someone had come out of the club, out that back door, and I didn't turn
around to see who it was because I was staring at the phone. While I was
holding it, running my internal debate, listening to the chiming notes
programmed in off of Josh's first album, they stepped up behind me, and
before I could decide to answer the phone or just go back inside hands
grabbed the back of my shirt, lifting me off of my feet as I was slammed,
face first, into the dumpster in front of me. My forehead connected
painfully with the metal, and I dimly realized that it was making the loud
banging sound that rang through my ears. As I slumped to the ground, trying
to stay up, but dazed and dizzy, I felt a hand press a cloth over my nose
and mouth as I fought for air, and suddenly I couldn't keep my eyes open,
couldn't keep track of anything.

The last thing I saw as I lay on the ground, on the dirty floor of the
alley, was my phone, under the dumpster, the faceplate lighting as it rang.

My last thought was of Josh.

I woke up in pain. My head was throbbing, almost blindingly, and when I
raised a hand to it carefully, I felt a large knot there. I wondered dimly
if I might have a concussion, and then realized that I wasn't in a
hospital. I remembered what had happened to me, remembered the shove, and
the hand, and realized that something was very wrong here.  Opening my
eyes, I saw that I was lying on a mattress, on a concrete floor.  There was
a sheet on it, and my head was on a pillow, but there was no bed. I sat up
and almost blacked out from moving too fast, falling back onto the
mattress. I raised my hands to my head to hold it, trying to quell the
throbbing, and realized that something else felt wrong.  I held them out in
front of me, squinting through the pain.

"No, oh no," I said, looking at my hand, my bare left hand. My ring was
gone.

What had happened to me? Where was I, and who was here? With slowly dawning
horror, I realized that I was in deep shit. OK, then, I needed to pause,
collect myself, and figure out as much as I could. I was lying on a
mattress, in obvious need of medical attention, and I was alone. Clearly
whoever had brought me here was not a friend. I started thinking about the
ring, felt myself slipping, wanting to cry, and pushed it away. I would cry
later, when I was back with Josh. Right now, I needed to know where I was,
and what was going on.

Sitting up more slowly now, trying not to move too fast, I looked around
the room, and tried to put all of the pieces together. There was one light
in the room, a single bulb hanging down from the ceiling with no shade, and
it didn't have a pull string. Maybe there was a light switch somewhere? The
mattress was the only furniture I saw, other than a sink on one of the flat
white walls, and a toilet behind a little half wall. It was an older model
sink, white porcelain, with pipes coming up out of the floor and metal
twists for the water on either side of the dull silver faucet. I realized
that there weren't any windows, and tried to figure out what kind of room
this was, where I could be. The ceiling was as flat and white as the walls,
and the only other features of the room were the door and a black plastic
bubble in one of the corners of the ceiling.

Sliding carefully off of the mattress, I began to notice other things as
well. My shoes were gone, and so was my belt. There was no light switch,
but I did find a button, kind of like a doorbell. It was the only thing on
any of the walls, but I decided to check the door first, before I figured
out what the button was for. I pressed my hands to the door, but it didn't
move, and I stupidly realized that the hinges were on my side. The door
opened in, but there was no handle, no way for me to pull it toward
me. Down at the bottom I noticed a flap, almost like a pet door, but it was
only a couple of inches high, even if it was a foot wide. I squatted down,
lifting the flap, trying to see what might be on the other side, but the
other side was dark. I pushed my fingers through the flap, gripping the
door, and tugged it toward me, but it wouldn't budge.

Cursing, I looked up at the black bubble. It didn't seem to be anything,
really, although I guessed it was important. There was so little here that
it must be, but what the hell could it be? I recognized it suddenly as a
security camera bubble, like the ones on the ceiling at a store. I didn't
recognize it because my head hurt and because it was so far out of context.

"What the fuck?" I asked softly, staring up at it.

There was nothing else to see. I had a mattress, with just a sheet, and a
pillow. I had a light I couldn't turn off, a door with a flap in it, and a
camera in the ceiling. I didn't have a shower, but I had a sink, soap, a
washcloth, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a roll of toilet paper on the
floor. I had a big knot on my forehead, and I'd apparently been robbed. My
shoes, belt, and ring were gone, as was my wallet, but reaching up, I felt
that my necklace was still there. I was still connected to Josh, even if my
ring was gone. I wanted to cry, but that wouldn't help me right now. I
needed to be strong and figure this out. Crying could wait until later. I
rubbed my thumb over the necklace, feeling the Scorpio on one side and the
Leo on the other, and wondered when Josh would find me.

He had to be looking for me, had to be frantic with worry. Actually, he was
probably a mess. Josh was really strong sometimes, could anchor me really
well, and I anchored Josh, too, but it only worked if we were
together. When we were apart, anything could happen. I got flighty, and
Josh got weepy, and it was just bad drama all around. Still, he had Justin
with him, and Justin would hold him down. The two of them were probably out
right now, looking for me, but where the hell was I? Was this a place
they'd even be able to find? And how long had I been here? I remembered the
cloth that had folded over my mouth, and realized I'd been drugged, but had
no idea how long I had been out. There was no mirror, but running my hand
over my cheeks I felt stubble, and guessed I'd been down for a day or two.

Looking around the room, I realized there was one thing I hadn't looked at
yet, hadn't explored. Walking slowly across the room, I stared at the
doorbell, and wondered what the hell it was for. There was a speaker set
into the wall, behind a little metal faceplate, right above it, which I
hadn't noticed before since it was heavily painted over to blend in with
the walls. I pressed the button, but heard nothing. I pressed it again, and
then a third time, but heard nothing. Shrugging, I began to pace, trying to
reason this all out. I realized stupidly that I was a prisoner. Was I being
held for ransom? How very "Days of Our Lives." I giggled absently, in spite
of the situation. As if me and Josh weren't riddled with enough trauma
already, now I was locked up in a basement, like Marlena.  This really
wasn't funny, but it was either laugh or cry, and I'd already decided to
cry later.

A voice crackling out of the speaker startled me.

"So, you're finally up. How's the head?"

I didn't recognize the voice, as it was altered with one of those voice
modulator things, like in a "Scream" movie. It wasn't as clean as that, of
course, since the voices in those movies were dubbed in, but it was mangled
enough for me not to be able to place it right away. Still, if he was going
to the trouble of covering his voice, that meant I might be out of here
someday, because he would be afraid that I might be able to identify him
later.

"Hello?" I asked, sitting on the mattress. "Hello?"

"You have to press the button, you idiot," the voice answered.

I walked over to the wall again, pissed because I didn't want to give him
even more of the upper hand.

"Where's my ring, you fucker?" I spat, holding the button down.

"The ring? I needed it for something," he answered.

"What do you want?" I asked. "Is it money? Josh'll pay for me."

"I don't think he will, actually," he answered.

I heard a noise, and glanced down. A folder had been pushed through the
flap, a plain manila folder like you'd find in any office, or, apparently,
kidnapper's basement.

"Pick it up," he said, a garbled chuckle carrying through the radio. "I
think you might find something interesting."

"Fuck you," I mumbled, bending to pick up the folder, knowing he couldn't
hear me because I didn't hold the button down. Bending over made the big
knot on my head throb, again, but I ignored it. Opening the folder, I saw
snapshots of Josh and Justin, at the airport. Josh looked upset, and Justin
was kind of hovering around him, but it looked like they were going into
the first class lounge. I walked back to the button. "And what the fuck are
these supposed to be?"

"Look a little closer at those, Jack," the voice advised. "Look at the
flight boards behind them. Look at the date."

I stared at the pictures again, looking past Josh this time, and felt a
shiver go down my spine.

"What day is it?" I asked, stabbing the button with my finger. He only
laughed. "What fucking day is it?"

"Thursday," he answered. It was hard to tell with the stupid voice
modulator, but I almost thought I could hear him smiling. "But it's the
afternoon. I took those this morning."

"Fuck!" I shouted, throwing the pictures down, walking in a quick circle
around the room, wanting to hit something. Instead I jabbed at the button
again. "What the fuck did you do? Where are they going?"

"Past tense, Jack," the voice answered snottily. I don't know if I was
actually reading tones off of it, or if I was just projecting them. "'Where
did they go?'  would be the appropriate question."

"Where, did, they, go?" I spat, spacing every word, biting them off.
Silence. "Answer me, God damn it!"

"They went to Florida, Jack," the voice answered. "They went home to
Orlando, without you."

He held down the button as he laughed, letting me hear it, even though it
was choppy and staticky through the modulator.

"Josh wouldn't leave me," I said, shaking my head. I realized that I wasn't
holding the button in, so I pushed it. "Josh wouldn't leave me. This is
some kind of trick, it has to be."

"Oh, it is," he answered. "But it's not a trick on you. Where do you think
your ring is, Jack?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, no, no."

I heard laughter again.

"You haven't answered, Jack," the voice prompted. "I see you shaking your
head, but you haven't answered my question. Where do you think your ring
is?"

"What the fuck did you do with it?" I asked, holding in the button,
realizing his camera had no sound.

"I gave it back to JC," the voice answered. "I left him a nice little note,
from you, along with your ring. He's not coming back for you, Jack, because
he thinks you're the one that left."

"Josh wouldn't believe that," I said, feeling tears rush to my eyes despite
my fighting not to cry. I didn't want to cry in front of whoever this was,
whatever smug bastard was on the other end of this speaker, but I couldn't
help it. "Josh wouldn't believe that I'd leave him."

"Funny, it sure looks like he did," the voice argued. I glanced down at the
pictures around my feet again. No. This couldn't be happening. "He sure
looked like he believed it when he got on that plane this morning."

"Fuck you," I said, letting go of the button. I wiped at my eyes,
struggling not to cry still.  Josh wouldn't believe this, wouldn't leave
me. I snapped the button again.  "Josh will come back for me, damn
it. He'll come back, and he'll find me, and we'll kick the shit out of
you!"

Laughter again.

"He's not coming back, Jack."

I walked away from the speaker, wiping at my eyes, my vision going blurry.
This couldn't be real, couldn't be possible. My head hurt, and now I felt
dizzy and confused.  Josh wouldn't leave me, wouldn't believe this. Even if
he did, even if for a second he thought it was real, he'd come to his
senses. He'd come back for me. He'd come find me.  I just had to wait for
him, just had to hold out, and be strong. I reached up to my throat, and
felt my necklace. He hadn't taken that, whoever it was, probably didn't
know what it meant, but I knew. I still had Josh. He was still here, with
me, and he'd help me get through this.

"JC isn't coming back, Jack," the voice said again. "How does that make you
feel?"

I didn't get up, didn't answer. I closed my eyes, and tried to think of
Josh, feeling the tears stream down my cheeks.

"Answer me, Jack," the voice demanded. "How do you feel, knowing that
you're here all alone, and he isn't coming back for you? Jack?"

I didn't get up. I turned toward the camera and extended my middle finger,
and then turned away from it, tucking my legs under me and sitting with my
eyes closed, trying to feel Josh, trying to keep myself from breaking down
completely. I was not going to cry here, not in front of this guy. I wasn't
going to give him what he wanted.

"Answer me, Jack!" the voice snapped again.

"Fuck you," I said, not moving my lips, knowing he couldn't hear.

Fuck you, asshole. I'll talk when I want to. Apparently he figured that
out, because he stopped talking. In the silence, I looked around again, and
tired to put the rest of this together. This wasn't the kind of room you
just happened to have around. You didn't just randomly have a little prison
set up in your basement, especially not one that had closed circuit
television monitoring and a two way radio speaker system. You built a room
like this, built it for a purpose, and it took time to do that. Whoever did
this was planning for a while, and had thought this out. It was someone who
knew where we were staying, because they'd been able to trail us to the
club. It was someone who knew our schedule, knew when we were supposed to
fly out. They must have known it was their last chance, which had to be the
only reason why they would risk taking me from a public place.

It wasn't necessarily someone who hated me, although it could be. It could
be a psycho crazy fan, but the way they had talked to me on the intercom
made me almost think that they knew me. Maybe I couldn't tell through the
stupid modulator, but they had sounded almost like they were familiar with
me, had used my name like an old friend.  Either it was someone who hated
me, or someone who wanted me separated from Josh.  Peyton was dead, so that
left only two people, either of whom would be able to set something like
this up.

Basil Morgan, the sleazy gossip columnist, was one. He had been sure he'd
be the one to break our story, to out Josh, and he was planning to use it
to catapult himself into the status of real, recognized reporter, maybe
into television journalism after a hell of a makeover. Josh had denied him
the story by dragging me across the carpet at that awards show, and he had
promised afterward that it wasn't the end of it, but that had been the last
we had heard of him. He could be out for revenge, out to prevent us from
enjoying the relationship that had almost been his ticket up.

On the other hand, I could also look at Stan, the guy from management. I
didn't even know Stan's last name, but he had been determined to keep Josh
and I apart, making it as difficult as possible for the two of us to stay
together, practically blocking us at every turn. He had thrown forms at us,
had tried to convince Josh that I would destroy the band, that him coming
out would ruin everything. He had tried to convince me that I was ruining
Josh's concentration, that I would end up costing him everything, but
Justin had intervened, banishing Stan to a back office somewhere, and I
never saw him again after that. If he really thought I was a threat to the
band, he could be protecting himself.

Either way, I couldn't say anything, couldn't bait him outright on the
speaker. The voice modulator implied that I might get out of here, that he
was planning to let me go at some point, but he might not do that if I knew
who he was. I had to figure it out, had to get enough clues that I'd be
able to finger him later, but for now I just had to stay cool, and wait
this out. Besides, I still had hope that Josh would put this together, that
he would still be able to feel me, and feel that I loved him. I touched my
necklace again, wishing Josh was here, but knowing we were still
together. Josh would come save me, and all I had to do was make sure we
could get whoever this was when he did.

I sat on the mattress, and realized that I missed Josh. I missed just
knowing he was in the next room, or that any second now he would walk in
and hug me, or put his hands on my shoulders, or kiss me. I missed the
sound of his voice, the soft husky tone he could use with me. I missed the
way that he could whisper my name, and make me feel whole. I opened my
eyes, picturing Josh's blue ones, thinking of how they reminded me of the
sea, and the sky, and how every time I looked into them I almost felt like
I was falling. I realized that Josh must miss me, too. Over the past few
weeks since he'd given me the ring, since we'd done our interviews, he and
I had spent practically every minute together, but it wasn't a smothering
closeness. It was fulfillment. Not having him here, not feeling that
proximity, I almost felt like I'd lost a limb. There was a spot inside me,
a definite space, that I could point to and say, "That's where Josh goes."

I looked at the scattering of pictures that I'd dropped to the floor
earlier, and leaned over to scoop them up. Returning to the mattress, I
looked at them carefully, and realized that Josh needed me. I could see the
circles under his eyes, the shadows that were never there unless he was
unhappy. Even in these still snapshots he looked distracted, unfocused. I
could tell from the pictures that Justin was hovering around him, was
guiding him, and I could also see from the expression on Justin's face that
he was kind of lost, too. He looked concerned, and kind of anxious, and was
hovering around Josh rather helplessly. I tried to imagine what the two of
them had gone through, how Josh would react to me suddenly being gone in
the night, and realized that Justin probably wouldn't be handling it all
that well, either, but that he'd be able to hold it together for
Josh. Justin had a hard part of himself that Josh didn't have, an ability
to realize that things were rough, but to just grit his teeth and get
through it. I'd only seen Justin actually break down, for real, maybe
twice, although I'd heard it happened with Lance, too.

Josh was in good hands if Justin had been with him. He'd be ok until I got
back, especially since they were going back to Florida, and the rest of the
guys were there.  They would take care of Josh, would help him keep it
together, and even if Josh believed now that I had left him, he would come
to his senses and realize that it couldn't be true.  He would know that I
would never do this, that I could never walk away from him without a word,
without talking to him about it, or giving him a chance to work through
whatever it was that might bother me. Josh wouldn't want to face this,
wouldn't be able to deal with it. If he really believed that I left him, he
would shut down, wouldn't be able to process it. If they had flown out this
morning, as it appeared that they had, it would be Josh's idea, because he
wouldn't want to stay here. He would want to push everything away and pull
up inside himself.

But he would pull out of it.

Josh would figure this out, and he'd come back for me. He'd come find me,
because he loved me.

As if the thought of Josh could summon him, I suddenly heard his voice
through the speaker, heard him singing. "Bye Bye Bye" was blasting out of
the speaker plate, filling the room, and I smiled. Was this supposed to be
some kind of psychological warfare?  Was this supposed to make me miss Josh
even more? Because it wasn't going to work.  This was the sound of the man
I loved. These were the voices of my friends, the guys who had become my
family. If hearing them was supposed to upset me, to make me think of what
was gone, it wasn't going to work, because this just made me feel like they
were here with me. I sat on the mattress, holding the pictures of Josh and
Justin, rubbing my thumb over my necklace every once in a while, listening
to the sounds of their voices give me strength. This was just going to help
me keep going, even if he ended up playing that God-awful Christmas album.

The entire album played through, twice, before I heard from my abductor
again. I had stopped sitting up, instead curling up on my side on the
mattress, just letting their voices carry me, letting the memories of
happier times take me beyond the walls of this room.  The only time I
thought I would break down was when "This I Promise You" came on, reminding
me of the day Josh proposed, the day I had woken up and we had completely
committed to each other, to being together. I looked at my hand, seeing the
light band where I hadn't tanned, where my wedding ring was supposed to be,
and I wanted to cry suddenly at what I was being denied, but then I
realized that he had just taken the ring.  All he had was a symbol. I still
had Josh in my heart.

"Pass the pictures back through the door, Jack," the voice said, startling
me. I sat up, looking around stupidly as if I thought someone would
actually be in the room. "Pass the pictures back through the flap in the
door."

Was he afraid that looking at them some more would give me hope? I got up
and walked over to the button.

"What if I don't want to?" I asked defiantly. "Are you going to come in and
get them?"

There was silence for a moment. Maybe my kidnapper had expected me to be a
little less pissy, to break, but I was determined not to. Just because I
was a captive didn't mean I was his to play with.

"Do you want to eat?" he asked, and I felt sudden dread.

As soon as he mentioned food, my stomach convulsed almost painfully. I had
been drugged and unconscious for days, hadn't eaten a damn thing, and now
my body was letting me know that yes, I was hungry. I hadn't noticed it
until he mentioned it, but now I realized that I needed food, needed to
eat. If he wanted me to trade the pictures for food, though, there was no
reason I couldn't play with him, too.

"What are you saying?" I asked, letting a little whining slip into my
voice.

"If you want food, you'll give back the pictures," he explained. I had to
smother a grin, realizing that this was going to work.

"Please," I began pleadingly. "They're all I have. Please, can I just keep
one?"

"No," he answered. "Not if you want to eat."

"Please! I miss him so much!" I said, letting my voice quiver a little. I
worried that I was pouring it on a little too much, and decided not to push
it. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to us?"

There was a pause again, and I wondered if my kidnapper might be stupid. He
must have known I'd ask these questions, and yet he didn't seem ready to
answer them.  Was the stupidity a clue?

"I'm going to take everything you have," he answered finally. "I'm going to
take everything you have, everything JC has given you. I'm taking it all
away.  And then, when JC has someone else, when he's found someone new, and
moved on, when he's forgotten about you and you have nothing left, then
I'll let you go."

I shivered, but knew I had him. Sinking to my knees, I buried my face in my
hands, knowing he'd be watching this all in the camera. I gave my simulated
crying a good five minutes, my shoulders shaking, my face covered, and
then, pretending to still sob, sniffling, wiping at my eyes since I'd
actually managed to produce a few tears, I gathered up the pictures,
pretending to try to hide one under my pillow.

"All of the pictures, Jack," he said. Oh, yes, I had him good, and he
thought he had me.

"Damn it!" I yelled, making it look good, and pulled out the last picture,
too. Shoving them back into the folder, I pushed it through the flap under
the door, and waited.

"There's a good boy," he said. "Enjoy dinner."

A paper plate with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on it slid
through the flap. I picked it up, and pressed the speaker button.

"What am I supposed to drink?" I asked testily, thinking that this small a
portion of food would probably only make me hungrier.

"There's the faucet," he answered. "I'd give you a cup, but don't want you
breaking it and trying to hurt yourself. I'm sure you understand."

I understood, but didn't think he did. He thought he had me, and
physically, he did.  Mentally, I was still free, and I needed to start
digging my hooks in. After all, I was Jack Springer, and I'd dealt with
worse than him. You didn't hit me without getting hit back, and I was just
getting warmed up.

I sat on the mattress, carefully chewing my sandwiches, trying to take only
small bites to make the meal last longer, and planned my next move.

***

To be continued.