72 Hours Chapter 12
Investigators replayed the tape two more times for Justin and Chris, allowing them to listen to JC’s broken, strained voice…giving them a chance to let the ransom demands and threats against Joey and the others to sink in.
Once the tape was stopped for the last time, and several minutes of silence passed, Justin and Chris sat back on the couch, wiping stray traces of tears from their faces, accepting bottles of water from one of their bodyguards all the while watching the investigators move about the room.
“I…Jace…” Justin said as he leaned in closer to Chris speaking in a voice so low that he almost went unheard…his tone bewildered…his voice cracking. There just weren’t words that he could use to express how he felt…how hearing JC’s voice had made him feel…even if he were able get his scrambled thoughts together. For the moment, they were so scattered…so unfocused that he had no idea how to pull them back into some semblance of order…and he had no idea when or if absolutely anything would ever be in order.
“I know…I know,” Chris replied in tones just as low…meant only for his friend to hear as he reached out and grasped one of Justin’s shaking hands, putting down his water bottle so that he could encircle his friend’s hand when he found it to be ice cold. “It’s…it’s going to work out, J. We’ve gotta believe that, okay,” he said, uncertain as to who he was trying to convince…himself or Justin all the while rubbing the hand, coaxing warmth back into it.
“Doing okay, boys?” Dr. Shannon asked, sitting back down after briefly excusing himself from the room. He had briefly watched the pair from across the room and it pained him greatly that he couldn’t simply fill a syringe with a magic medication to erase the last two days’ events or pull a pill from his medical bag that would make the situation right itself without anyone else having to become involved…especially the two young men before him.
“Yeah…but…what happens next? That’s what I want to know,” Justin said quietly, shifting his position on the couch. “The threats…would they…I mean…are they serious?”
One of the investigators heard Justin’s statement and he sat down on the couch across from them.
“After analyzing the information that we have, there is every reason to believe that the kidnappers will follow through on their threats,” he said.
“We also have to believe their intentions in harming the others…in harming Mr. Fatone,” another stated in an almost matter of fact tone.
“So…what do we need to do?” Chris asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what he had heard on the tape.
“I don’t want to wear any kind of tracer if it means making sure Lance, Jace and Joey are safe…Joey especially. If those threats are real…Joe doesn’t stand a chance if we wear one and it’s found.”
“I’m sorry, but a tracer is absolutely necessary, Mr. Kirkpatrick,” one of the men answered without thinking about what he was saying. In his mind, there was no other recourse and, for the life of him, he had no idea why there should be a problem or questions raised as to what needed to be done.
“Yes, Mr. Kirkpatrick,” another investigator added. “Without a tracking device enabling us to capture each and every move you make…every word you said, you and Mr. Timberlake might find yourselves in a situation that you would regret. Yes…a tracker will be absolutely necessary…no matter what is demanded by the kidnappers…no matter what the consequences might be.”
No sooner had the words left the man’s mouth Justin and Chris sat almost dumbfounded, perceiving a level of insensitivity radiating off the two men speaking to them.
‘Those are my brothers you’re talking about,’ Chris thought…his mind screaming the words so loudly that he was certain that everyone in the room could hear it.
Apparently, the shocked expressions that Chris and Justin were wearing were not lost to some of the other investigators, as well as Johnny, Dr. Shannon and Mike and the trio were prepared to say something but Chris beat them to the punch when
Slowly leaned closer toward the investigators before speaking in a tone of voice that no one had heard in quite some time…at least not since the whole Lou Pearlman fiasco years ago. Justin and Johnny instantly recognized it and Dr. Shannon raised his eyebrows at the young man’s unfamiliar tone but no one made a move to stop him from speaking.
“Let me tell you something…and I want you to listen very carefully,” he said very slowly and succinctly, carefully forming the words so that no mistakes would be made by those listening, putting emphasis into his voice so dark that Justin knew that he never wanted to be on the receiving end of that side of his friend.
Upon hearing the tone, Johnny immediately wanted to interrupt, to somehow gain some semblance of control of the situation knowing that it was rapidly deteriorating, but one look his way from the angry young man caused him to rethink things and remain silent, if only to hear what Chris felt he had to say.
“I will not do anything that will put my little brothers in danger…nothing will change my mind…no one will either...especially you, detectives,” he practically spat out pointing his finger in the direction of those sitting across from him.
“Mr. Kirkpatrick…you don’t seem to understand the importance of having a tracer…” one the investigators said, raising his hands in an attempt to calm the boiling turbulence in the room, not truly understanding that Chris had been pushed too far and that no words or actions would prevent him from voicing his opinions.
“No…it’s you that doesn’t understand…so understand this, detective,” Chris practically spat out, his eyes blazing. “You just try making me wear one, detective, and I’ll take that tracer and shove it…”
”Christopher!” Johnny interjected, surprised that he would have to do so, but Chris was going to be heard and he stared back at the manager as he completed his threat.
“…down your throat so far, Dr. Shannon will have to surgically remove my arm,” he finished, leaning back on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, continuing to give Johnny a look that would have put the meekest of men in their places but did little in that way for the manager. Instead, he returned his own firm gaze, letting Chris know that he was on his side, but that he needed to bring it down a notch or two.
At the same time, Dr. Shannon further raised his eyebrows, if that were at all possible, the image of extracting Chris’s arm from the detective’s esophagus playing about in his mind while, just across from him, Justin cleared his throat then slightly started in his seat when all eyes were instantly upon him.
“Umm…what he said…it goes for me too,” he stated, after swallowing deeply. He then nodded in Chris’s direction, quickly adding more to his statement.
“I’m not…I just…we’re not going to do anything that will jeopardize the others being safe and set free. They’re the ones who really count in this. We’ll do anything…anything…” he said, his voice dropping as his emotions seemed to close his throat, preventing any further words from escaping.
The senior detective nodded his head then slowly and methodically began a mental countdown, giving everyone the chance to cool their heels…allowing words to sink in and the thick tension in the room to somewhat abate. Several moments passed before he cleared his throat then bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasping his large hands before him. From the corner of the room, a figure approached, speaking in slow, firm tones.
“Well, then, Chris…Justin…that means we’re at a bit of a standstill since we’re unwilling to let you two follow through on the demands without some sort means of back up,” Investigator Carlson stated, pushing his back against the couch he had just sat down on, having walked in on the tail end of the conversation.
“You heard what JC said,” Chris interrupted, ready to once again defend his earlier statements. “If we do wear anything and they find the tracers or trackers…whatever you want to call them,” he said waving his hand, way beyond being aggravated by the entire situation, his words and thoughts so focused on what he didn’t want to do that he was quickly becoming more agitated.
“If we do…our friends are history!” he nearly shouted, his voice betraying his frustration, anger and fear.
“Us too,” Justin added, his voice full of emotion, but from the opposite pole of Chris’s. Where the older man’s voice and body language told of his growing exasperation and rage against everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, the youngest member of the group felt as if his whole world as he had known it for the last six or seven years was slowly crumbling before him at such a rate that he was having trouble keeping up with it.
For several moments all parties remained silently divided, save for the deep, ragged breaths coming from Chris and the quiet sniffles escaping from beneath the hands that Justin had covered his face with…no one willing to back down from their declared positions, until one of the senior investigators put up his hands in an effort to call for everyone’s attention. With a nod of his head at one of the other members of the group, a handkerchief was produced and handed over to Justin, who, with slight embarrassment, wiped away his tears while, at the same time, Chris took several deep breaths in an effort to reign in his own tumultuous emotions.
Finally, once everyone had been given the chance to take a brief break, the senior detective cleared his throat in order redirect everyone’s attention. Once he was certain that he had everyone looking his way, Detective Drake was given the go ahead to begin speaking.
“I believe that we are not at an impasse…just a small bump in the road,” he said, looking at those seated around him. “I know that you want to follow the demands to the letter in order for your friends to remain safe,” he added looking at Justin and Chris, who nodded in agreement.
“You must also understand that we have the same desires as you and their families…we want Mr. Fatone, Mr. Bass and Mr. Chasez to be found and safely returned to their loved ones and friends as well as bringing those who have kidnapped them to justice and put away for a long time, but in order to accomplish these ultimate goals, gentlemen we must rely upon practices that have been proven to work,” the detective said, his voice quiet, yet firm knowing that what he was saying was more than likely not something either young man wanted to hear, but did indeed need to, none the less.
“We have found that always following what is demanded by kidnappers doesn’t mean that promises in the release of victims come to pass. Most often, those victims are not released and instead are killed and, very often, their remains never recovered. We don’t want that to happen to your friends and in order to prevent that from happening, we follow a different agenda than what is being demanded of us.”
Chris cleared his throat and looked down at the carpet, knowing that deep down what was being said was making sense…to his head at least…but not to his heart.
“So…what do you need for the boys to do?” Johnny asked, nodding at Chris and Justin. “How will we make sure that they stay safe?”
”By wearing devices that will keep track of your location at all times,” was Detective Drake’s reply. “We have no guarantee that plans won’t change midway through…that somehow, we’ll lose visual contact with you two. If that were to happen without the devices being utilized, we would more than likely end up having to deal with five kidnap victims rather than the three we have now.”
“Would we actually need to place them under the skin?” Dr. Shannon asked, still uncertain as to Justin or Chris’s abilities to tolerate the procedure or its results, not noticing both young men wincing at the same time…the possibilities of what the experience might be like frightening them almost as greatly as meeting the demands.
“Wouldn’t they stand a chance of being found out if bandages are found on their persons?” Dr. Shannon asked. “What you are asking me to do will require some stitches. The men we’re dealing with sound rather organized…knowledgeable. There is no real reason why they wouldn’t find the implants if they became suspicious…and…then where would we be?”
“Besides that,” Johnny added. “I don’t know that either Chris or Justin would be able to tolerate the pain and discomfort that might go along with the procedure. There are just too many things that could go wrong, gentlemen.”
He knew both Justin and Chris well enough that neither would be able to handle much more than what was already being required of them. They were reaching their breaking points and adding physical pain into the equation could possibly send them over the edge.
“I agree, gentlemen,” Dr. Shannon said, nodding his head. “There has to be another way.”
Justin cleared his throat, gaining one of the investigator’s attention and he leaned over, bowing his head close to the blonde’s.
“Umm…I saw this show once…where…they put the tracer…ummm…in the soles of the shoes,” Justin said. “Would that work? I mean…why would we need to take off our shoes?”
The investigator raised his eyebrows, nodded his head thinking about the suggestion. It had been done in the past and there was no reason why it might not work this time. Thinking rapidly, he once again nodded his head then began speaking.
“We’ve got a suggestion over here, gentlemen. One that just might work.”
Just as he was about to elaborate, the phone rang at the far end of the room…
For the amount of time that it took for the first then second ring to be heard, the level of tension multiplied twofold and controlled chaos took over in the room as Chris then Justin immediately leaped up from their seats on the couch. While Chris stepped forward his muscles tight as springs, Justin bent over as his stomach clinched tight beneath his hands causing him to gasp out loud as he nearly fell into Chris who managed to grab him by the arm and ease him back down to the couch.
“J? What’s the matter?” he asked leaning over Justin, his arm wrapped around the younger man’s shoulder, while Dr. Shannon sat down on the Justin’s other side.
“Tell me what hurts, Justin…” the doctor said, his tone calm and controlled in the middle of the chaos in the room as he bent in close to Justin reaching with one hand to gently grasp one of the hands that the young man had folded over his middle.
“You need to lean back a little for me, son…I need to see what’s going on,” he quietly urged.
“Stomach…killing me…hurts,” Justin managed to say between clinched teeth, flinching as the doctor pushed his shoulders back in an effort to gain access to the area.
“Lean back, Justin…lean back,” Chris urged, feeling helpless only to wince when the young man’s hand snaked out to grasp one of his in a crushing grip.
At the same time, most of the investigators raced across the room, taking their positions before recording equipment, one pulling Johnny across the room by the elbow while two remained at the couches watching over Justin, Chris and the doctor. If need be they were ready to do almost anything to prevent the three from interfering with the phone call…absolutely anything.
“You need to answer the phone, Mr. Wright,” one of the men said, gesturing toward the phone that continued to ring on uninterrupted.
“Stay calm…answer any questions to the best of your ability…ask questions…keep them on the line as long as you can,” he said, all the while watching Johnny wiping his hands over his pant legs, his eyes seemingly glued to the phone until someone said his name, reclaiming his attention.
“Mr. Wright…okay…now,” another investigator said, pointing at Johnny who took a deep breath then picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
Time seemed to stand still for Chris as he sat across the room. He felt torn in two…his desire to stay with Justin battling the even greater desire to run across the room, tear the phone away from Johnny in order to speak with whom ever was on the phone.
“Who’s on the phone with Johnny? Who is it?” his tone almost desperate as he looked at one of the men, who had remained nearby.
“I don’t know, Mr. Kirkpatrick. Right now, you need to concentrate on him,” the investigator said, nodding toward Justin.
At the same time, Dr. Shannon glanced up just long enough to see the tumultuous emotions flying across Chris’s face, knowing exactly what had to be going through his mind.
Justin moved beside him causing the doctor to refocus his attention.
“How are you doing, son?” he asked, bending down enough in order to see Justin’s pale features.
“I’m okay…I’m okay,” Justin said quietly, trying to sit up, releasing Chris’s hand, not noticing the older man carefully rubbing his other hand over it in an effort to relieve the painful pin prickling sensations racing through it.
Justin ran a shaky hand over his head…the severe cramps that had suddenly gripped his middle were slowly dissipating into small, dull waves of nausea.
“I’m okay,” he repeated, gaining Chris’s attention. “They’re going away…honest.” He slowly sat back against the back of the couch and took a shaky breath.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Dr. Shannon said quietly to Justin before looking over to Chris. “Chris…I need you to help me out here. Justin’s fine…just suffering from some stress induced cramps, I think, but I need to check him out.” The doctor didn’t even give Chris the chance to consider not following what was being asked of him to do.
“Take him by the arm, Chris,” the doctor added when there seemed to be no reaction. “Help me get him to the bedroom.”
For a moment more, Chris glanced at the doctor, then at Johnny across the room…back and forth, before Justin reached out for his hand.
“Help, me, Chris,” the doctor said, rising up, pulling Justin with him. Chris stood up on the other side of Justin, and between the two of them, along with Mike bringing up the rear, the trio made their way slowly to one of the suite’s bedrooms.
Minutes later, a pale faced Johnny walked toward the bedroom with investigators trailing behind him, one of which grasped a tape player in his hand.
“How are you doing, Justin?” Johnny asked, looking at the figure seated at the end of the bed.
“Okay…okay,” was Justin’s quiet reply.
“Doctor?”
“It’s not appendicitis…nothing more than a bad case of nerves,” Dr. Shannon replied, looking at the men standing before him, his gaze falling to the tape player.
“Who was it, Johnny?” Chris asked, his gaze intense, searching for the answer in the eyes of his manager before he even had the chance to answer the question.
“It was JC…it was…it…was bad. He sounded pretty bad,” Johnny said, deciding that the truth would be best since they would be hearing the recording…and would be able to hear exactly what he meant.
“They’ve given us the remainder of the instructions. There’s going to be a lot to do before you’re ready to go in the morning, gentlemen,” the senior investigator said. “But…what we’ll need to know, after you hear this recording, is whether or not the two of you are one hundred percent committed to carrying out the demands being made.”
“You’ve already had our answer,” Justin said quietly, as he looked at those in the room. “There’s no way that you can stop us from doing what they want.”
“Mr. Kirkpatrick?”
“What Justin says, goes for me, too,” Chris said firmly, giving the men a look of incredulity, surprised that the investigators thought that they would answer any differently.
“Okay…well, then, I guess we need to get started.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The cellar door opened and Cary glanced up to see Barrett and Zachary standing on either side of JC, supporting him, their hands wrapped around his arms, which were bound behind him. From where he stood, it became rather obvious what had caused the muted thuds that he had heard against the basement’s ceiling.
“Larry…why?” Cary said under his breath as he watched the young man’s head loll upon his shoulders, revealing what looked like a black eye as well as a few smears of blood staining his pale features.
“Here…you take him,” Barrett said to Zachary, stepping away from the swaying figure, giving the other just a moment to adjust his handhold. “I’ve got stuff that Lawrence wants me to do before we leave.”
“Yeah,” Zachary replied, turning his back to the door as it was opened then closed.
Zachary frowned beneath his mask as he took on JC’s weighty, unresponsive figure, marveling that the he was still on his feet, albeit not too steadily. With a shake of his head, Zachary looked down the twenty some odd steps, knowing that he would never get the young man down the stairs since he was clearly unable to cooperate…still too dazed and injured from Lawrence’s attacks.
He slowly turned JC to face him, his hands under his arms supporting most of his weight as the young man slightly stumbled over his feet, his balance precarious. Taking a deep breath, Zachary stepped forward, bending his knees slightly, squatting while at the same time pulling JC toward him, then, in one smooth move, he hefted the figure over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. He adjusted the young man’s weight on his shoulder, tightly grasping the staircases’ wooden railing with one hand while grasping just as tightly, the back of JC’s thighs.
He could feel the young man slightly straining against him, which surprised him considering the beatings that he had endured in the last two or three hours…all at the hands of Lawrence.
There had been very little that he and Barrett could have done to prevent Lawrence’s actions…it would have been the same as trying to hold the wind within his hands…futile…useless and would have only made the situation even more difficult if they had stepped in to stop it.
With one last shake of his head, Zachary met Cary at the bottom of the stairs then stood still just long enough for him to lift JC’s head up to see close up what damage Lawrence had inflicted. A low whistle from the younger man let him know that he was just as shocked as he had been.
“What happened?” Cary asked, stepping to the side, watching as Zachary walked across the room to the three mattresses on the floor.
“More like what didn’t happen,” Zachary replied before adding, “how about a little help?” as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Untie his hands…we need him on his back to get him cleaned up.”
“Lower him a little bit,” Cary said, watching as Zachary slowly bends his knees. “Let me help,” he said, offering some support as Zachary knelt upon JC’s mattress. Seconds later, the ropes holding JC’s arms behind him fell loosely to the floor.
Cary then reached out and gently grasped JC’s head in his hands, following Zachary’s movements as he lowered his burden, laying him on his mattress.
Just as JC’s body touched the mattresses, he moaned low into his gag, the noise almost imperceptible. For the next fifteen or so minutes, the pair cleaned and bandaged the worst of JC’s injuries before administering an injection of pain killers sending the young man into a level of consciousness so shallow that he was no longer aware of his surroundings or the fact that he was once again bound and gagged.
It was sometime later that Cary shook his head at the three figures lying on the floor before him. For the last hour he and Zachary had been moving from one figure to the next, checking to make sure they were each remaining somewhat stable, all the while continuing to grow steadily more horrified as to how they were using their medical training.
Things were now much, much more complicated than they had been nearly twelve hours earlier…well before JC had struggled to make his way up the staircase…before Joey had been given a concussion…before Lance had succumbed to the affects of a mild tranquilizer.
Just a half hour earlier, Lawrence had left the basement after having made one final phone call with JC relaying the remaining instructions for the ransom drop off and now he and Barrett were preparing to meet the two men who were to bring the money.
Finding the young man somewhat coherent had not helped Lawrence’s mood in the least and angrily he had demanded that his condition be reversed. It had taken several tense moments of effort before JC was brought to awareness, rebound with his arms pulled behind him before dragging him back up the stairs.
After JC had finished his task, Lawrence had ordered that the young man be sedated, not that it really made that much of a difference since the young man had lapsed into an almost comatose state…not responding to their efforts to bring him to a level of awareness, which was not surprising since he now had a few more new bruises added to those he already had.
As a result, Cary and Zachary had simply untied the young man’s arms from behind his back and handcuffed his hands in front of him then tied his ankles with a thick layer of tape. Since JC’s face was so swollen from the separate beatings that he had endured, it had been decided that they should not gag the young man fearing that he might have great difficulty breathing. If he did happen to put up any vocal protesting later on, they would then gag him.
“I’m going upstairs for a few minutes,” Zachary said, rising to his feet from the chair at a desk against the far wall of the basement.
“Want anything?” he asked, stretching his long arms overhead before lowering them to scratch his chest.
“Nah…not right now,” Cary answered, shaking his head, not taking his eyes from the book that he was reading. “Don’t take too long, okay?”
“Yeah,” Zachary replied, already walking toward the stairs.
Cary shook his head, knowing that his request would more than likely be ignored. “I really mean it, Zach…you need to get back down here…soon,” he said, looking up only long enough to see his friend nodding his head.
“Okay…okay.”
With that said, Zachary opened the basement door before disappearing from view.
A low moan from Lance’s mattress caught Cary’s attention and he stood up from the easy chair that he had positioned in the middle of the basement floor and placed his book in the chair. Checking his watch, he found that it was about time for the blond to show some signs of awakening and he moved to the cabinets on a nearby wall, opening and closing various doors, pulling out numerous items and placing them on the countertop, preparing a syringe for the next injection of sedative as well as noting the medications out of habit and training.
With the pending arrival of Timberlake and Kirkpatrick looming in the near future, Lawrence had demanded that he and Zachary keep the three young men sedated and bound. He didn’t want the trio to provide any distractions when the time came for he and Barrett to leave.
They had protested, stating that Joey didn’t need the sedation due to their uncertainty of the seriousness of his concussion but the older man would hear nothing of it. In the end, it was decided that giving Joey narcotic pain relievers would pretty much keep him out of it as well as take the edge off the severe headaches he was having during his brief periods of clarity.
It had not been often, but there were times that Joey reached total awareness, where his eyes would focus then flit back and forth between his friends as they remained in their own low states of consciousness.
For the most part Joey remained ignorant of their presence…didn’t seem to even notice their even being there within a few feet of him until they came into his view, prepared to give him the next injection that would send him back into oblivion. It was then that he would come to life…seeming to pull from somewhere deep within, possibly his last reserves of strength.
It was during those brief moments that both Cary and Zachary felt the greatest amount of regret in what they were doing…seeing the fearful glimpses…the worry and concern radiating from those intense brown eyes as their gaze traveled over his friends…back and forth only to slowly lose focus all the while moaning lowly in what they guessed an effort to communicate with the others.
Then, about an hour ago, Joey’s futile efforts finally became too much to watch…the last time that it had happened, tears had flowed from those brown eyes and low, mournful moans came out from beneath his gag. Cary had worked as quickly as possible to administer the next injection of pain medication then watched as Joey had lapsed back into unconsciousness, seeming to fight it all the way, as the drugs gradually took hold of his senses. He eyes would lose focus then roll with the effort that he was putting into bringing everything back into focus. Finally his head lolled on his shoulders, his fight against darkness obviously being lost as his body slowly slumped in upon itself, becoming totally limp and pliant.
“I don’t want to see that again,” Zachary had whispered as he wrapped a blindfold over Joey’s eyes, not wanting to witness that haunted gaze again.
“We need to give him just a little bit more…” he had quietly added, standing up to see Cary nodding his head in agreement. From that moment on they slightly upped the dosage of the pain relievers they were administering just enough to insure that the periods of wakefulness would be shorter.
Shaking his head at the memory, Cary lined up the items on the counter top, continuing in his recording what drugs he was going to be using and the dosages, inwardly scoffing at the irony of how he was using his medical training, all the while hearing the young man movements and muted moans behind him.
Once he had the syringe prepared, Cary reached for his gun and a sharp knife that was lying nearby on the counter before turning to walk over to Lance’s mattress.
Once there, he took a moment to stand over the moaning figure, taking in the unfocused gaze…the sluggish, slow movements. He briefly clinched his eyes shut.
‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself before opening his eyes. ‘What are we doing? What are we going to do?’
Each question only proved to fuel the frustration that had slowly been building up within him in the last few hours…every since JC had struggled to make it up the stairs…and Lawrence made his startling revelation that hatred was the driving force behind his motivation to kidnap. But…who or what was fueling his hatred was a question that was beyond him and, for the moment, would remain unanswered.
Shaking his head, Cary knelt down beside Lance and grasped the young man’s bound wrists, watching as long fingers slowly, tentatively moved…as it they were grasping at the air…reaching out fervently for something to hold onto.
He then glanced at the young man’s face to see that his eyelids were softly fluttering but not yet opening.
“Come on…wake up,” Cary practically growled, his growing frustration of the day’s events coming out in his tone. He set the syringe and alcohol swab on the mattress then went about the task of taking Lance’s blood pressure and listening to his heart. Moments later, he rocked back on his heels, placing the stethoscope behind his neck and tossing the blood pressure cuff to the far end of the mattress away from the young man’s sluggishly moving legs.
“Come on…come on…” he said, almost as a mantra as Lance continued to moan low beneath his gag, his head moving slightly as he continued to float just below the threshold of consciousness…his bound limbs moving loosely almost as if they weren’t under his control.
Finally, losing his patience, Cary leaned in to grasp Lance’s face before giving it two quick slaps in an effort to bring the young man to a higher level of awareness. In response he was rewarded with a louder, albeit muffled moan through the handkerchief gag clinched between his teeth while the same time seeing eyelids opening fully, revealing green eyes somewhat focused, narrowing in what Cary guessed, a mixture of pain and confusion.
“Keep still, Mr. Bass,” Cary ordered as he untied the portion of ropes keeping the young man’s bound wrists held tightly against his chest.
“You’re going to have to work with me here,” he said, bending the stiff arms while still holding the bound wrists in one hand before slashing through the ropes binding Lance’s ankles. He had no intention of untying Lance’s hands knowing that the young man could manage in the restroom with them still bound.
“You’re taking a bathroom break before your next injection. If you’re hungry, I can give you something to eat also.”
Lance didn’t acknowledge the words. Instead he focused on his surroundings, taking in Joey and JC’s silent and still figures just a few feet away…wanting desperately to know how his friends were doing…fearing the worse.
“They’re going to be fine…really,” Cary said quietly, almost as if he had read Lance’s mind…looking him directly in the eye before taking a brief moment to rub the circulation back into Lance’s numb limbs.
“We’ve given them both something to keep them sedated…just like you.”
Cary then abruptly stood up then bent over to tightly grasp Lance’s left bicep in order to pull him up and get him to his feet.
Almost immediately, Lance’s vision swam…his balance almost non-existent and he swayed on his feet. Cary tightened his grip on the young man and gave him the time that he needed to regain his sense of up and down, all the while hearing him breath through his nose in short, harsh bursts.
“Let’s go,” Cary said, once Lance seemed to gain his equilibrium with slow steps, he led the blond to the bathroom across the room. Once at the doorway of the small room, he could tell that Lance was somewhat more aware of his surroundings and what he was going to be doing.
“Turn around,” Cary ordered, watching as Lance’s green eyes slightly narrowed, suspicion dimming them slightly before complying with the demand. Cary worked quickly and soon the knot holding the gag in place fell apart beneath his fingers and he tugged the cloth away.
Lance raised his bound hands to his mouth, touching his dry, cracked lips with trembling fingers. He made an attempt to clear his throat, but only managed to cough instead.
“Do your business. You can drink water from the sink.” Cary pulled his gun from his waistband, raised it to Lance’s view then cocked the trigger.
Lance startled slightly at the sharp, metallic sound then turned his head just enough to the left so that he could see behind him, having somehow forgotten that the men holding him and the others hostage were armed, since for a very brief moment in time, the man handling him had seemed almost human.
He nodded his head then slowly, on shaky legs, entered the bathroom, all the while reaching out to the walls in an effort to retain his somewhat unreliable sense of balance.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Is this absolutely necessary, gentlemen?” Johnny asked, watching a small handful of investigators, along with Dr. Shannon encircle Justin, who stood in the middle of his suite’s bedroom, his arms crossed over his bare chest in a mixed effort to not only hold himself together, but to also conceal the small measure of embarrassment he was feeling as several pairs of eyes trained themselves on him.
Dr. Shannon could see Justin’s discomfort, the young man’s eyes briefly closing only to open and dart around at those standing by him. With a frown, the doctor continued to stand nearby since he had very little control over what was being done and remained silent while at the ready to step in at any given moment, should the need arise. He was still slightly concerned about Justin’s earlier reaction to the most recent phone call just an hour or so ago. After a brief exam, he had come to the conclusion that the combination of lack of proper diet, proper rest and the obvious stress of the situation had been the catalysts behind Justin’s stomach cramps. They had disappeared almost as quickly as they had appeared but it left the group wondering how well the young man would be able to handle what was being demanded of him.
At the same time, Chris sat on a nearby bed fuming as he watched and, from where he sat, he could easily see that Justin was coming close to the point of losing his small thread of control.
“Johnny…you’ve gotta stop this,” he said quietly enough that Justin could not hear. He glared at the manager who was seated nearby when there was no ready response. “He’s going to lose it…I mean…look at him,” he added, nodding his head in Justin’s direction. “They should have had me doing this…not him.”
Johnny nodded in agreement. “I know…but, they have to do this, Chris…”
“Raise your arms, Justin…parallel to the floor,” one of the investigators said, drawing Chris’s attention, as he stood before the young man seemingly oblivious to his growing level of discomfort.
“Turn…turn…” another said gently prodding the young man at the shoulder, barely feeling the infinitesimal trembling beneath his fingertips.
“We could place one…here, if we had to” the investigator said, touching Justin’s lower back. In response, Justin slightly gasped and looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening in growing alarm at the words being said and the implications behind them.
“What happened to using our shoes?” Chris asked, his eyes narrowing even further as one of the investigators ordered Justin to raise his arms over his head before having the young man turn again. “I thought you liked Justin’s idea.”
“That’s a very good question,” Dr. Shannon added, glancing over at the lead investigator. “I thought we were in agreement that placing the trackers there would be the best option.”
“We need to pursue all our options before making a final decision, doctor,” was his answer and, again, all attention was focused back on Justin.
“Arms down…turn your back away from us…lift your right foot…parallel to the floor,” still another said before grasping Justin’s ankle firmly. In response, Justin teetered perilously for a split second, his arms outstretched in an effort to keep from falling over before one of the men grasped his left arm.
In a mixture of frustration and growing fear, Justin glared at the man as he shrugged his shoulder, trying to pull away from the investigator all the while looking pleadingly first in Dr. Shannon’s direction then Chris and Johnny’s only to have a hand grasp him by the chin in an effort to redirect his attention.
“That’s it!” Chris yelled, standing up, pulling off his shirt in the process before throwing it at the floor. “If you want to poke around on someone, here I am…Justin, sit…now,” he barked angrily while at the same time glaring daggers at those surrounding the younger man.
For a moment, no words were said then slowly those standing closest to Justin stepped back, giving him the opportunity to step away.
Slightly relieved, Justin lowered his gaze then walked over toward Johnny, reaching out to accept the shirt that he had shed just moments earlier.
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, Mr. Kirkpatrick,” the lead investigator said from his seat across the room. “I think Mr. Timberlake’s earlier suggestion is going to be our best bet. We’ll let the two of you rest while we begin to coordinate plans.”
With that said, the group dispersed, leaving Johnny, Dr. Shannon, Chris and Justin staring as the last of the investigators left the room.
“Are you alright, son?” Dr. Shannon asked, bending slightly over Justin, who had sat down at the end of his bed…his elbows resting on his knees…his shirt held loosely in his hands. “Stomach holding up?”
“Yeah,” he shakily while moving over just enough to give Chris room when the older man motioned for him to. Then, with a small, mirthless chuckle, he ran a hand over his curls as he add, “I just…I…didn’t think that was going to be so hard…you know? When I said that I’d do anything to help Jace, Joe, and Lance…I really meant it…honest. I guess…I mean…I just didn’t know…”
As his words hung in the air, Chris quietly leaned into the younger man and put his arm over his shoulder then gently gave him a hug.
“It’s okay, J…it’s okay. You did just fine,” he said quietly, the anger that had been humming through his body slowly abating…disappearing as he realized that it would not help the situation in the least.
Johnny cleared his throat then squatted down before the pair, wincing at the almost haunted look in Justin’s eyes and the remnants of anger in Chris’s. For a moment, he considered not saying anything at all, but then, after taking a deep breath, he spoke in such a low tone, that he was almost unheard causing Justin and Chris to unconsciously lean toward him in an effort to hear his words.
“Boys…this was hard,” he said, gently reaching out to first grasp Justin’s knee, then Chris’s. “But…what’s going to come in the morning when you leave here for the drop off point…that’s going to be even harder. You’ve got to pull it together…keep Jace, Joe, and Lance in mind…concentrate on them…all of this is for them.”
With that said, silence reigned in the room…there were no words that could be said…none at all.