CODENAME: LANCÆLOT
by silverluna
Chapter 10
~*~
Justin was reading through the book again. There's gotta be something here, he thought.
"Give it up, Justin," Chris said, walking into the room. "That thing is just a tourist book."
Justin scowled. "Gee, that's real nice, Chris. I'm only trying to help Lance and you tell me to give it up. I bet it you were the kidnapped one, you'd want me to be looking through this book or whatever I could to help you."
Chris frowned. "If I was the kidnapped one, I wouldn't want you to be wasting your time, looking through some stupid tourist book when you're supposed to be helping me!"
Chris and Justin glared at each other in mutual anger. They tossed the idea around as if it were nothing, as if it were just something to be said to pass time. As if it wasn't real, as if it were unfathomable. The moment trembled, threatening to remain in that one moment forever.
Joey wandered in from the kitchen area. "Hey, can you guys keep it down? And stop arguing about whether or not Chris is kidnapped and tourist books."
The moment ended, passing itself on as other moments, merging, bending. It became almost unrecognizable.
They both looked at him, and then back at each other, apologizing.
"Sorry, man," Justin said.
"Me too," Chris muttered.
They were both frustrated. All of them were. The time here teased. It moved both quickly and too slow. It moved in a way that at times they figured it would never pass, and at other times that they had lost too much of it. They felt trapped in between the moments, searching desperately for the connections so they could move on. Time also liked to stop, kind of like a heart beat that was just stuttering. But each moment like that was very scary. There were too many moments like that.
"Plus," Joey continued, "I checked on JC a little while ago."
"Oh?" Justin asked. "How is he?"
Joey sighed, plopping down in a chair. "He didn't look too good when I opened his door. He was half awake, looking kind of haggard. He was staring at the ceiling."
"Didn't he sleep very well last night?" Chris wondered, then rolled his eyes at his own question. Duh, he was almost abducted last night. How would you sleep? "Nevermind," he amended.
"No," Justin interrupted. "He was having some wicked bad dreams." Two pairs of brown eyes like amber spheres examined Justin's voice. "He kept calling out, and rolling from side to side. I sat up on my bed to see if he needed any help, but whatever he was fighting with seemed to calm after a while. I almost felt guilty falling asleep when he was like that."
Joey shrugged. "He's trying to sleep now." He kicked at the floor. "Last night when I tried to talk to him, he seemed really out of it. He sounded exhausted and haunted."
"Haunted?" Chris repeated. "What do you mean?"
Joey looked around. "I dunno. I know the obvious is to blame the kidnapping attempt, but it was something else. Like there was something behind his eyes that ran deeper than recent events." Suddenly embarrassed, Joey realized the two were staring at him. His tongue knotted and he was unable to find intelligible words.
What he didn't realize was that Justin and Chris weren't staring at him because they thought he was crazy, they were mesmerized by what was happening. Time was crumbling the thin layer of normalcy they were used to. Everything constant was halting. Not the world itself, but their individual worlds.
"Joey? What else is there?" Justin questioned.
Joey stretched his neck. "I don't know," he said quietly, finding he could speak again. "I really don't know." He picked up Lance's tourist book, discarded on the table, and flipped through a few pages. He read a small passage: Crescent City is known for its exotic history rich in the paranormal—a history of spiritualism, of Voodoo, and of ghosts. Ghosts are found almost everywhere in New Orleans, if you believe the legends. There are ghosts resulting from war, from natural disasters, and from interpersonal conflicts. "Hmm, ghosts?" he whispered. He searched a little more, and was rewarded with a website address. "Hey, is Lance's laptop on the bus?"
Chris looked up in surprise. "Probably. He always brings it, doesn't it? Why?"
"I'll be back," Joey told them, leaving for the bus.
Beyond the living room area, behind a closed door, JC was locked in a semi-restless slumber. A tortured slumber. There was a gag in his mouth. A thick cloth that had grown soggy because he'd worn it long. The corners of his mouth were raw. He felt scared—helpless. Figures, shadowy ones, moved around him. He couldn't move his hands. He heard them talking, pointing at his bound figure. He was scared—he tried to nudge backwards but he couldn't move. He didn't remember anything—how he'd gotten here, when. He felt that he was not alone—that someone else was here, in the same danger he was.
Joey was typing, looking for the website listed in the book. Chris was taking a sip of juice when they heard the first scream. Chris half choked on the juice, the glass slipping from his fingers. He was to his feet before the glass shattered. Justin was already to the door. Joey got to his feet and followed. Cautiously, they pushed the door open.
JC was still asleep, tangled in sheets. His knuckles were white and he was drenched in sweat. In his head, the screams weren't coming through, but he knew he had to try. Hands were touching him, gripping him. Voices were whispering, "Come back. Come back." He felt as if they were trying to reach him from another dimension. He was too afraid to open his eyes. Light penetrated his eyelids. This was different. There had been no light there. Time peeled away slowly and JC's eyelids slid back. He blinked a few times. Three concerned pairs of eyes were staring him down. "Guys?" JC whispered.
"Are you okay?" Joey asked softly.
"I'm okay," JC said too quickly. Joey, Justin, and Chris exchanged a glance. JC caught, coming out of the supposed kidnap dream. He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Guys, come on. I'm fine. I just had a bad dream."
"What happened in it?" Justin asked quietly.
"I dreamt I'd been kidnapped," JC answered, paling as he said the words. They all paused, the seriousness of the situation pressing into them. After a moment, JC explained the rest of the dream, what he remembered. "I don't think I can sleep anymore right now," he murmured. "Maybe a hot shower would make me feel better." He climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom.
Chris' mouth was drawn into a tight, thin line. "I hate see him like this."
"Like?" Justin questioned.
"Like he looks ten years older. More drawn. It scares me," Chris admitted.
"Yeah," Joey agreed, leading them out of JC and Justin's room. He closed the door. "Look, you guys have to check out this website. I think this might be a clue to finding Lance."
Eagerly, the others fed the situation, glaring at the screen. Anything that would finally help, something that was finally going somewhere, after all the time of hardly nothing being there. At least, it seemed like a long time....
JC stood in the shower, letting the hot water run down his skin. "Am I losing control?" he whispered through falling water. He half expected something to come through, to manifest and taunt him. He pictured himself screaming in violent fear—or stunned to a mute silence. Stop it. This is supposed to be relaxing, remember? his inner voice chided him. Still, he couldn't help thinking it. The events of the past fifteen hours were still haunting him. Lance's disappearance and their original attack was tugging at the edges of his soul, the usual haunt. I couldn't protect Lance. Or Justin, Joey, or Chris. I can even protect myself.
JC's stomach turned. He felt violated somehow. He felt as if his body was not made of flesh and bone but of cobwebs and dust. He felt frail. He felt like a victim. The word soured in his mouth, and a shiver traveled through the hot water. He just stood there, letting the water rush into his mouth and nose. He tried not to feel anything. After a few seconds, he moved against a wall, standing just shy of the falling water. It still touched him and caressed him, but it seemed as if he were standing in between the drops. In between rain. "I'm so scared," he admitted aloud, to the water. But I have to go out there. I have to talk to them. I have to pretend everything is okay. JC paused, running over the strands of thoughts in his mind. Lance is goddamn missing. He was kidnapped....I have to forget that I was almost—I have to be strong....
~*~
"I just don't get it," Justin went over again aloud. Chris stared at him. "I mean, if Lance wasn't kidnapped for a ransom, then why? I know we've got some deranged fans out there, but this seems like something more. And now, what do they want with JC?"
"If they are the same people that took Lance," Joey commented, not taking his eyes off the screen which he was reading.
"Yeah, but why didn't they just take C when they took Scoop?" Chris mused softly, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, they could have taken all of then but they didn't. It doesn't make sense."
You really want sense now, Crazy? Joey pondered to himself.
"I think they're the same ones. They were just going to take JC just like they took Lance—"
"We don't know that, J."
"No, but my other theories are way too crazy. It's like JC was saying. This stuff has to be connected somehow."
"Let's talk about that face he scrawled," Chris brought up.
"Did you want to see it again?" a voice asked somberly.
Justin and Chris swung their eyes to the direction of sound. JC was standing in the doorway connecting room to room. He was dressed in jeans and a black shirt, looking uncharacteristically sad.
Chris put up his hands in defense. "I didn't know you were—um, sorry, C. Didn't mean to—"
JC didn't move.
"All he means is some freaky shit's going on, JC," Joey amended for Chris. He still hadn't turned from the laptop.
JC sighed. "Yeah. That's...true."
"You want to see this website I found in Lance's tour book? It might help us."
JC swallowed the bile which was rising. He gave a quick nod, unable to speak.
Joey scrolled down. A line in a different type face and color jumped out to assault JC. He was drawn to the laptop. As he read it, water surged like blood through his veins. It was a torrent, coming to rush at him.
You will never find yourself until you face the truth.
Very simply. As soon as it registered, something deep in JC's psyche pulled at him—a thread unraveling the strings of his heart. Darkness screamed in his ears and the water covered him and he was lost, no longer himself. He was shapeshifting like water.
"Shit!" Chris cried, seeing JC's eyes roll back and his form begin to topple. He sprang forward, grabbing JC under the arms, hauling the dead weight down gently.
Joey had swung around at Chris' outburst. "Christ, what happened?" he muttered, getting a pillow to support JC's head.
"Justin, get a cold cloth for his head," Chris instructed. He lightly patted JC's cheeks, trying to bring him around.
"Chris," Joey mumbled.
"Yeah?"
"You know how you said he looks ten years older?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Christ, he looks almost—half dead—"
"Quiet," Chris warned as Justin re-entered the room.
"God, he's so pale," Justin commented, putting the cloth on JC's forehead.
"This is how he looked last night," Joey said softly.
"Except his eyes were open, looking wild and afraid."
"Should we get the doctor?" Justin asked when JC showed no signs of stirring.
Before Chris could answer, JC's eyes opened slowly. He was confused, unsure of why he was looking up at the ceiling, and why the guys were looking down at him with concerned faces. "Wha—why am I—"
"JC, you fainted," Joey informed him. "Do you remember anything?"
"Standing in the doorway. It's fuzzy."
Chris caught Justin's eye. "Call him up," he whispered to Justin. Justin nodded, getting off his knees.
JC gulped as Chris and Joey helped him to the couch. His legs were shaky; he felt as if he'd been trying to walk underwater in the pressure of great depths.
"You can come? It's no problem?" Justin spoke into the phone in a low voice. "Yeah? Maybe something to help him sleep? He's been under a ton of stress lately...."
It's okay. You can say it aloud. They won't hate you. They won't pity you. "Guys," JC started.
Justin hung up the phone to silence. He, along with Chris and Joey, waited for JC to speak.
"Guys, I'm scared. But I don't want to let it go at that. I don't want fear to blind us. I think we're the only ones that can figure this thing out. Please—help me not to be so scared. Can you help me?"
~*~
Two of Little Flower's men held Alexander. "You failed," Little Flower stated, slapping Alexander across the face, hard.
Alexander just took it; he didn't try to struggle. "It was only one time. He got away one time only." His face was dark with bruises and revenge. "It's not going to happen again."
Little Flower studied him sincerity. She moved a jagged finger, a long red nail. The men released Alexander. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen." They nodded, wiping blood off their business suits with their handkerchiefs and left.
"Why are you so rough?" Alexander complained, gingerly touching his face.
"You screwed up. Besides, you want Janus to do something much worse?" She tried to look for a shiver but only caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Perhaps only white light. Unreadable.
"How the hell was I supposed to know that he wouldn't react to a gun?"
"You should have used drugs."
"Please, Little Flower. Don't insult me. I would have liked to see you try to drag him out of there by yourself."
"Well, it wasn't my job."
"So, guns don't scare him. I'll just have to go deeper. What about Lancælot? Any progression?"
Little Flower took him by the wrist. "Come see his state." She led him down a corridor. They looked in a window, which to Lance would have been a mirror. "Does that satisfy you?" Little Flower taunted. Alexander gazed in, trying not to make his grin too obvious.
Lance lay on the floor, his mouth gagged with a thick cloth. His hands were bound behind him. He appeared to be asleep, though his eyelids flickered occasionally. He perceived figures, shadowy figures, moving about. He was scared and completely alone. He wanted to sleep but sleep only peeled away his lasting shreds of sanity.
"Why the restraints?" Alexander tried off-coloredly.
"He was screaming. He was screaming and I thought I was going to go mad, myself, dear. Now that just wouldn't do, would it?"
Alexander knew she was trying to trip him up with the deliberate edge in her tone. "Screaming?"
Little Flower licked her lips but refused to go into details. Alexander fumed, clenching his fists. "Yes. The rag finally muffled it. Janus thought it was funny."
"His screaming or your going mad?"
Alexander was spared a blow when Lance abruptly sat up. He stared straight at the mirror. His eyes of cold green.