"One…Two…Three…Four…" Wade Robinson, Nsync’s choreographer, dragged Lance through the dance routine for "Bye Bye Bye". Lance refused to do the steps shown to him. Do the routine for "It Makes Me Ill". Lance didn’t want to obey the Voice. He couldn’t even recall the dance routine for that song. But, to his horror, he started dancing. He didn’t even contemplate the moves. The Voice took care of that job. Wade shook his head. "How on earth can you remember "It Makes Me Ill", when you don’t remember your own name?" Throw the microphone at Wade’s head. Lance’s left arm reached out. Lance grabbed his arm, struggling with the invisible force that was making him do these mean things. The Voice’s strength exceeded his own. Lance picked up the microphone and aimed it. Wade’s eyes widened. Lance tried to open his mouth to scream duck. No, you will not tell him to duck. Throw it! The microphone smacked Wade on the temple. He slumped to the floor. Good. He’s stone cold out of consciousness. "No," Lance moaned, "I didn’t want to hurt him. Stop it and leave me alone." Your mind belongs to me. I control your thoughts, feelings, words, and actions. You have some control left, but before long, it will be mine too.
Lance’s legs started running. They ran out the door. They ran to the elevator. Lance tried to stop. He couldn’t control his movements. The elevator took him to the top of the hotel where the pool was located. Run off the building. "No! No! Someone please help me!" Lance shrieked. The edge got closer and closer. Everything looked so small 33 stories below. "STOP!" Meanwhile, the pool man adjusting the pool chemicals watched as a singer from Nsync dashed toward the edge of the building. "Good Gosh," he exclaimed, "The boy’s committing suicide!" The thing the man didn’t understand was why the boy was screaming for help when all he needed to do was quit running. Lance’s feet reached the edge. Tears streamed down his face. This is it. Jump Lance. Jump. "I don’t wanna die," he cried softly. The cars looked so tiny from above. What you want doesn’t concern me. Jump now! For a few brief seconds Lance struggled with the will of the Voice. The Voice won.
Stars danced before his eyes. Am I dead? Is this Heaven?
No you fool, the Voice rebuked, that infernal pool man grabbed your arm right as you jumped. You lost consciousness when your head smacked into the wall. Lance groaned and sat up. He was lying on his hotel bed. "How-how did I wind up here?" His index finger grew warm. The ring was alive, bright and pulsating. Suddenly, horrible visions filled Lance’s mind. Visions of death, torture, and blood. "NO! I DON’T WANNA THINK THESE THINGS!" The Voice laughed mockingly. Like you have a choice? Your mind belongs to me, Lance. I’m in control. These are the thoughts I have chosen especially for you. I know your likes and dislikes. It’s one of the many perks of being able to unlock a victim’s mind. Lance stumbled off the bed in a dazed state. His vision was blurring. Everything seemed red. "Who are you?" He murmured. The evil that Anna warned you about. Feeling weaker and more submissive? I’m taking complete control now! Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Lance found Justin’s pocketknife. The Voice instructed him to hold out his wrist. The chained Lance inside Lance’s brain yelled no. The blade slashed through the flesh. Blood gushed out. The blade sliced through Lance’s other wrist. More blood flowed onto Lance’s clothes, shoes, and the carpet. Lance’s knees shook. He came close to hyperventilating as he leaned against the wall. There’s so much blood. Dizziness overwhelmed Lance. He collapsed to the stained carpet. Then, a wonderful twist of fate occurred. The Voice shouted no. Lance felt forces beyond his power struggling inside him. Another voice spoke to him. This one was kinder and feminine. Drop the knife Lance. The Mind Stealer cannot harm you now. To his happiness, when he willed himself to let go of the knife, the knife fell to the floor. Relief evolved to panic when the realization of what he’d done hit him. Lance ran to the bathroom. Blood trailed behind him. Hastily, he attempted to wrap towels around his cut wrists. Nothing worked. The phone! He dialed 911. "911, what is your emergency?" "Help! I’ve cut my wrists! There’s blood everywhere…" The operator didn’t realize it, but Lance passed out mid-sentence from lack of blood and shock.
Anna sped down the street in her convertible. The hotel loomed in the distance. She had already called the manager at the arena where Lance’s band mates were performing and informed him of the emergency. I hope I’m not too late. She managed to temporarily disable the Mind Stealer who’d taken Lance prisoner. Who knew how long she had until he was back in power.
