Justin and Chris sat forlornly at their hotel suite’s kitchenette table silently lost in their own thoughts. Justin loosely gripped his fork as he idly pushed about the food that was on the plate set before him. Chris, on the other hand, had not even bothered to pick up his fork since they had sat down more than 20 minutes earlier…he was sure that if he did happen to eat something, it would just come right back up…he was just too nauseous.
Johnny watched the pair from the adjoining living area of the suite knowing why neither young man had any appetite for the meal that he had ordered for them. Chris had complained about his stomach churning since he had awakened from his long drug induced nap while Justin said that he couldn’t bring himself to eat knowing that Joey, JC, and Lance could very well be going without the comforts that they all took for granted...food, water, shelter…the list was endless. Johnny also knew that the heavy medications that the hotel’s physician had prescribed were more than likely causing their appetites to disappear. Although the medications had been prescribed for Justin after his fainting episode, Johnny had been able to persuade Chris into taking one of the pills too when he was unable to rest well.
So, for now, both young men were on autopilot when it came to taking care of themselves. For the most part, Johnny and the bodyguards who were staying with them were making sure that they were resting and at least attempting to eat something.
Chris glanced at the slumped profile of Justin knowing that he had to somehow serve as an example to him. If he was able to remain somewhat in control of his actions, he felt sure that Justin might be able to follow suit. If they could just keep it together, then Johnny would have one less thing to worry about.
“They’ll be okay, J,” Chris said quietly before spearing a limp, cold green bean with his fork and putting it quickly into his mouth. With some difficulty he chewed the tasteless, waxy morsel then swallowed before spearing a baby carrot and a slice of squash. He frowned at what was on his fork then shoved the food into his mouth...nearly gagging in the process…nothing tasted the way it should.
“You need to eat…they’re going to need us,” Chris said, while slowly chewing what was in his mouth. He looked up from his plate and was saddened to watch Justin lay his fork down on his plate then push his chair away from the table. Chris suddenly felt powerless to help the younger man. How could he when he felt like he needed as much, if not more help for himself.
“I can’t…I mean…they might not be able…I can’t, Chris…I just can’t…I…”
The words tumbled from Justin, his voice shaking a little harder with each word…his bottom lip trembling a little more…before he quietly stood up and left the tiny area, heading for his bedroom, leaving Chris staring numbly at his retreating form. As the bedroom door closed behind Justin, Chris spat what was in his mouth into his napkin, nearly gagging in the process, then drank deeply from his water bottle.
“Neither can I, J…neither can I,” he whispered before putting his head in his hands and losing his battle with tears.
Johnny continued to sit on the couch, sure that if he attempted to stand, his knees would not support him. With almost pleading eyes, he looked at the four bodyguards seated throughout the room before leaning his head against the back of the couch.
“I’ll go after Little Bit,” Lonnie said, using his own nickname for Justin as he stood up and crossed the room to the closed bedroom door. Without knocking, the large man opened the door and entered the room, closing the door behind him.
In the meantime, Mike and Dre walked over to the kitchen area. Dre cleared the table, putting the half touched plates back on the rolling cart that room service had brought up while Mike pulled Chris’s chair back away from the table. Simon walked over to the cart and pushed it toward the suite’s door.
“I’m going to go check in with the security in the hallway…see what they’re up to,” he said before nodding at the policemen seated near the door. The two officers nodded their heads as one stood up and opened the door for Simon and followed him out into the hallway while the second officer reached under his chair for his coffee cup before standing and walking into the kitchenette, feeling awkward and intrusive during the brief moment of grief.
“Chris…come on…let’s get up so Dre can finish up,” Mike said, steadying the young man as he shakily stood up. The pair then slowly walked into the living area with Chris shuffling his feet along the carpet while Mike kept a gentle but firm grip on the young man’s left elbow until he sat down heavily on the couch opposite of Johnny’s. Mike sat beside him and the trio sat motionless for several moments.
When the silence became oppressive, the bodyguard glanced at the form sitting beside him and his heart ached at the sight. In the six or more years that he knew the young man, he had never seen him look as small and lost as he did right then.
With an inward sigh, Mike put his hand on Chris’s knee, gaining his attention before lifting his massive right arm up, giving an unspoken invitation…one that he had not had to offer in quite some time. Chris recognized the gesture and felt new tears find their way down his flushed cheeks scooted down the couch before laying down and putting his head on Mike’s thick thigh.
Upon feeling the bodyguard’s large hand resting on his forehead, Chris closed his weary eyes and gave a small, hiccupped sigh while the hand lowered to cover not only his forehead but also his eyes. Chris then felt Mike’s the large thumb stroke over his hair in a slow, almost hypnotic manner.
Chris tightly curled up, bringing his knees up to his chest and folded his arms over them, trying to contort his body into the smallest shape possible. Mike continued to gently stroke his hair with his thumb as he listened to the young man's breathing even out and become deeper as sleep once again took over. Several minutes later, Chris didn’t feel the hands that gently pulled him from his awkward, tucked position nor did he feel the blanket being draped over him.
“You haven’t had to do that in a long time, Mike,” Dre whispered as he sat down beside Johnny.
Mike simply nodded his head in reply and reached for a magazine that was lying on the end table beside him as his mind traveled back to the times when he had found himself to be in the same position with one of the young men resting against him. It had indeed been a long time since he had had to perform the simple gesture and this was also a first, as far as the person needing the comfort.
Mike allowed himself to think back to the time that he had been hired as the group’s head bodyguard…just a few months before they headed over to Europe with their former manager, Lou Pearlman, to begin recording their first album and tour the continent. Those times had been hard for all of the young men. Not only were they facing the pressures that their chosen career produced, they were also facing those pressures in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from family and friends. On more than one occasion Mike had provided comfort during bouts of homesickness for Justin and Lance, since they were the youngest members of the group…even JC and Joey had come to him in just a handful of occasions, but never Chris…not even once. Chris had been witness to the power of Mike’s knees and his hands…their abilities to chase away uncertainties, fears, and bad cases of homesickness, but not once had he had to prescribe to “Mike’s Remedy,” as the younger members of the group called it…not once…until now.
Mike set aside the magazine in his hands, knowing that it would go unread and he gently began to run one of his enormous, dark hands over Chris’s head, gently pulling at the dark spikes. Chris did not stir at the man’s touch, causing more than a small amount of relief to flow through Mike. He knew that what both Chris and Justin needed most right now was rest…rest and their friends.
* * * * * * * *
Dim awareness crept its way through JC, bit by agonizing bit. As the dimness gave way to clarity, JC’s first coherent thoughts were of Joey and Lance…where were they? Were they okay?
His next thoughts were of trying to gain a better toehold of his senses. Slowly, as the ability to command his muscles into action and have them obey came into play, JC forced his heavy eyelids to open. Immediately, he squinted painfully as the bare light bulbs hanging overhead assaulted him, instantly causing tears to form and blur his vision.
JC blinked his eyes heavily several times before his vision cleared enough that he was able to glance about the large room for any sign Joey and Lance. After several frantic moments of searching, JC was relieved to see both young men not too far away and choked back a sob of relief, not realizing that it was muted behind a gag...his mind was still too drugged to comprehend his situation entirely. For the moment, he concentrated on the forms of Lance and Joey, willing either one of them to awaken and look his way since each seemed to be either deeply asleep or unconscious, but those possibilities didn’t alarm JC. It was the sight of his motionless friends being tightly bound and gagged in awkward positions that caused him to attempt to move from the mattress that he was lying on.
He made an attempt to sit up and suddenly found that the movement was all but impossible, but his awareness still too fuzzy to immediately comprehend why he was getting no where until he took stock of where exactly his own hands were and why his feet were not moving.
‘Oh, no,’ he attempted to say when he realized that his hands were being held together tightly with several layers of heavy duct tape, but the only sound that he heard coming from his mouth was “ohm, nom.”
He then tried to open his mouth but failed and he suddenly realized that something was holding it closed…tape…lots of tape.
The sudden awareness of his situation brought a flood of memories to JC’s mind…the bus…the attacks…lying tied up in the lounge area…seeing Joey hit…Lance was in the kitchen area…his being blindly lead off the bus and placed into another vehicle…Joey and Lance lying nearby, unconscious…a needle prick…then nothing…nothing…nothing…nothing.
JC felt as if he was under assault as confusing and frightening memories continued to crash through the fuzziness being caused by the drugs that had been forced into his system…so much so that he didn’t notice the sounds of footsteps coming from the far end of the basement nor did he hear their approach. It was not until a pair of feet standing before him that JC’s thoughts were interrupted and he was startled when a veiled individual knelt down before him while another pair of feet descended the stairs in the background.
“Good to see that you are finally with us, Mr. Chasez,” the individual said with a deep voice as he reached out and snagged JC’s hair in one hand and the tape covering his mouth with the other. JC grunted in protest as he tightly shut his eyes, steeling himself for the coming pain but instead was surprised to find that the sticky layer of tape was being removed slowly and in a relatively painless manner. Once the tape had been removed, the man released his hold on JC’s hair and stood up. JC lay still, licking his dry lips…tasting the sour residue of the tape, all the while watching the figure standing above him.
“I don’t want you to talk unless you are spoken to,” the man said as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from a back pocket then bent over to set them on the floor.
“My friend over there will kill one of the others if you do speak out of turn,” he added as he gestured at the man behind him who was now kneeling over Joey’s still form.
As is on cue, the second man pulled a knife into view in one hand as he grasped Joey’s hair and pulled it back with the other, exposing the unconscious man’s throat to the thin blade, where it now rested.
In terror, JC shuddered and swallowed deeply while the man continued to speak.
“You’re going to have an opportunity to visit the restroom, Mr. Chasez. I recommend that you take it…it may be a while before your next one.”
JC numbly nodded his head then cowered in fear when the figure pulled a large knife from his belt. The man grabbed JC and quickly flipped him from his side onto his back and JC couldn’t help but tremble in fear at the ability to see what was about to be done. As the knife approached JC cringed at the man’s touch as he pulled his bound hands forward. JC felt two quick tugs then the tape holding his hands together was severed and JC hissed in discomfort as he brought his hands back down in front of him. He noticed that his wrists were not only slightly bruised and scraped, but it also appeared that an angry rash from the tape was beginning to become quite evident.
The man then pulled him into a sitting position and JC winced at the sudden change from the position that he had laid in for an unknown amount of time.
“Let me see,” the kidnapper said as he reached out and grabbed first JC’s right wrist, then his left, turning them over as he glanced at the angry rash and raw, slightly bleeding abrasions that surrounded each.
“I’ll take care of this after your visit to the restroom.”
JC blinked in disbelief at the man…one of his kidnappers being concerned over a rash, but he didn’t have long to try to make sense of the statement since the tape surrounding his ankles was quickly severed and he was slowly pulled to his feet.
A wave of dizziness washed over JC and he found himself to be swaying on his feet. The man kept a strong grip on one of his biceps as he allowed JC to stand as the dizziness passed only to be replaced with the discomfort of the feeling rushed back into his stiff limbs.
Several moments passed before JC could even begin to move rather slowly across the floor toward the small bathroom at the other end of the room with some assistance. As they passed first Joey then Lance, JC’s steps faltered. He desperately wanted to stop and check on his friends, but the grip on his arm remained strong and unforgiving…he would just have to wait.
“They’ll be okay,” the man said, feeling the young man’s hesitation in his steps and JC once again was shocked by the fact that one of his kidnappers seemed to be exhibiting some form of compassion with the small bit of information that he just gave.
The second man then stood up from his position beside Joey, much to JC’s relief and grasped his other arm and led him toward the restroom while the other walked over to a nearby bag, opened it and pulled out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.
JC almost forgot the orders not to speak as he watched in amazement as the man walked over to Joey’s still form and knelt down. The last thing that he saw before being pushed harshly toward the open restroom door was the man carefully taking Joey’s blood pressure.
“The door will remain open, Mr. Chasez,” the second man said as JC slowly entered the small restroom and turned to look at the man, giving him an uncomfortable gaze which was readily understood.
“You can be reassured, Mr. Chasez…I have no interest at all in what you need to do…go relieve yourself…now,” the figure said, slight amusement evident in his voice.
JC cringed as he realized that the man knew exactly what he had been worried about and that disturbed him even more than his original worries. He glanced once more at the man then, with an inward shudder, nodded his head and coughed slightly as he turned and walked further into the restroom. He stopped by the sink first and drank several deep swallows of water to relieve the dryness in his throat before walking over to the toilet at the far end of the room.
Several minutes later, JC exited the room and was escorted back to his mattress. He had a multitude of questions but held back any attempts to speak since the second individual had made it very clear that he should by once again kneeling beside Joey’s still form to hold a knife to his pale throat while the other man motioned for him to sit down on his mattress.
With quick and practiced movements, the kidnapper smeared a cream over JC’s wrists then wrapped a thin layer of gauze around each before picking up the pair of handcuffs that lay at JC’s feet.
“Hands out, Mr. Chasez,” he said as he held out the pair of handcuffs and reached for one of JC’s wrists.
JC winced as the cuffs were snapped over the bandages surrounding his tender wrists, but he was somewhat relieved that his hands would still be in front of him, causing thoughts of possible escape to surface and take shape in his mind.
He remained still as heavy duct tape was first wound several times about his ankles then around his legs, below his knees, once again effectively immobilizing him. Then, finally, one very long strip of the heavy, sticky tape was torn from the roll and, seconds later his mouth was once again taped tightly shut with the strip wrapped completely about his head two times.
When the man rose from his position and walked back to the bag, JC nearly laughed as he realized that he would easily be able to free himself from the tape with the position of his hands, but his elation did not last long. When the man turned back around to face him, he was holding a syringe filled with a clear fluid in his hand.
Instantly, JC recoiled from the approaching figure…his great fear of needles not only spurring him, but also the fact that, apparently, he was going to be drugged once again. In fear and frustration, he began wildly grunting his protests as loudly as possible into his gag, all the while futilely trying to move away.
“Mmmmmph…mmmph…mmmph…mmmph!” JC screamed into the tape, shaking his head furiously in objection at the figure kneeling down before him.
“Now…Mr. Chasez,” the figure said in a tone of voice that was bordering impatience. “If you do not cooperate, he will hurt one of your friends.”
As those words left the man’s lips, JC’s gaze flew to the man still kneeling beside Joey and he immediately stilled his movements while his screams of fear for himself turned into those of pure terror for his friend…the man’s knife blade was no longer a shiny silver…it’s tip was now red…a bright red with Joey’s blood.
JC’s heart pounded wildly as his gaze flew over Joey’s slumped body in an effort to find out where the blood was coming from. The man watched JC franticly search for the blood’s source and he raised Joey’s hands, turning them so that JC could see that he had run the knife over the palm of his left hand and the top of his right.
“I will do it again, if I have too…but this time it will be his throat if you do not cooperate,” the man said as he dropped Joey’s cuffed hands to the basement’s dirt floor.
JC closed his eyes and nodded his head, never feeling his shirtsleeve being lifted, or an alcohol swab being brushed over his arm nor did he feel the needle piercing his forearm. When he felt the hand grasping his arm release him, he opened his eyes, focusing his total attention on Joey, who remained bleeding and unmoving just a few feet away.
As JC’s awareness began to dim, he watched incredulously as the man before him rose and walked over to the nearby bag and rummaged through it before making his way over to Joey’s side with several items in his hands. JC stared in disbelief as the man knelt down and made quick work of cleaning the bloody hands then wrapping gauze heavily around them. A syringe was also produced and Joey remained motionless as medication was injected into his arm.
“I’m going to go clean this up, Cary,” the figure holding the knife said as he stood from his position by Joey’s body and turned toward the staircase.
“Don’t be too long…Lawrence wants to make that call as soon as Bass wakes up and we have to do some stuff before that happens.”
“Okay…be right there,” the other man said as he too stood up to put the remaining gauze into the bag. “I’m going to wait with Chasez until he’s out.”
The men’s voices sounded strange and garbled to JC as the medications slowly but surely began to take over his thoughts, confusing them and causing him to struggle to comprehend what was going on around him. He was also finding it especially difficult if not impossible to move about on his mattress…his muscles seemed sluggish and unresponsive to his muddled commands. He knew that whatever he had been drugged with was working rapidly and he would eventually lose the battle of remaining conscious.
In a mixture of fear and frustration, JC moaned quietly into his gag, gaining the attention of the kidnapper. The man knelt down before him and quietly spoke.
“As long as you choose to cooperate, Mr. Chasez, your friends will remain healthy and free of pain. It was your fault that Mr. Fatone was cut…your fault alone.”
JC’s drug cluttered mind heard the man’s words and took them to heart…believing he himself to be the soul cause of Joey’s injury…him alone.
‘My fault…my fault…my fault,’ JC’s mind chanted as the darkness engulfed him…pulling him into its deep, silent void.
