Here's a semi-long chapter full of lots of nice twists and turns....enjoy. :)
CODENAME: LANCÆLOT
by silverluna
Chapter Twelve
Yes, half the room had fallen away to darkness, had given way to diamond twinkling stars, embryos of stars that had never been born. He was almost afraid to gasp, wondering if this was part of another dream, one so recent and vivid it had almost become a recurrent nightmare; he didn't know if he was asleep or awake half the time.
It must be a dream, JC consoled himself, finding that thought immediately ridiculous. Still, the actuality of half his hotel room plunged into the dark of night was almost too much for his eyes to register. He forced himself not to hold his breath or gasp as if he was missing breath. He unglued his eyes and let them blink freely. No sleep freed itself from his eyes. His mouth open and his breath pouring out in a long stream, as if the room were chilled enough to let something invisible be seen.
He then heard a voice. An unfamiliar yet familiar voice. It was one not of his immediate surroundings, of where outside his door his brothers dwelled, and outside of that door his family members and friends—each off in other states or countries; those ones he knew or had met in this lifetime. The thought teetered uncertain, this lifetime. He wasn't really sure if he believed in reincarnation...or ghosts for that matter. He had always thought what was done was done, and there was no changing it.
But he heard a voice. It said: "Do not be afraid."
If he wasn't so terrified in that splinter of a moment, he would have laughed. A hand "touched" his shoulder, "touched" because it was more of a memory, a ghost of a memory that slid through his flesh because it was intangible, having given up its own substance and matter of this world. The fingers were long and as he stared at them, he felt he was looking into a prism. He was frozen in this spot, frozen in time. In front of him, when his gaze strayed to the fingers, the dark and stars translated to mirror the prism of the hand. An echo.
The fear worked him over quickly, taking his rationality away, holding it hostage. His skin paled and his lips trembled. Something was coming, something unknown to him.
Prism lips kissed his cheek. His frozen face shattered into ten thousand pieces. In that moment of the kiss he had felt, or at least sensed, the warm breath of a female in the youth of her prime, a female hungry and passionate. His scream rushed out invisible into the fog that had settled like a cloud in his room. The floor gone and he was sure he was in the atmosphere, waiting for solid ground to totality give way so he could fall.
His scream was not planned; it was one of undulated terror, though she had told him not to fear. It was impossible for JC to feel her hot breath on his cheek. The lips that had kissed him were dead lips.
His scream was one long one and his door burst open. Three concerned faces hovered over him; he was close to consciousness but not completely dwelling in it. He had a chance to tell them. This was his chance.
"He's freakin' hysterical," JC heard Joey mutter to Justin, his tone not of anger but of fear of losing control. The threads of calm were about to unspool and snap, tearing all of them far away from each other. One string had already been cut. The strain of crisis was beginning to to wear them thin.
JC swung imploringly to Chris, hoping he would listen. He was met with the stone face of a statue. Tears welled up in his voice and thoughts were pouring out before he could carefully choose his words, keeping some things to himself.
"It wasn't a dream, like the others, guys." JC's voice was a high whine, his eyes at times squeezed shut. "It wasn't a dream. Something's coming, guys. Something's falling away and I don't know how to stop it. I know I'm supposed to be serious and stay in control but I just can't. I just can't. I'm trying to resist but this is something I can't explain."
Their faces were nearly unreadable, so JC wasn't sure if any of this was sinking in, or if they were even listening to him. He hadn't realized that he'd been fighting against them, struggling against some force that confused his psyche. They had dragged him out to the living room area, forced him to sit on the couch, and held him there, while they tried to calm him down.
"Shh, tell us what happened," Chris began.
JC's eyes were about to bleed. "I have been telling you. You need to listen to me. This is serious stuff." He continued to struggle until Justin grabbed his arm and twisted his wrist slightly. JC stopped moving and was struck with the memory of two nights ago at the same moment he cried out a straggled "ow!" The memory was one of Justin telling him how his brothers would never hurt him.
JC tried to pull his arm back but Justin gripped his wrist, this time not to cause pain but as a means of restraint. A flash of—lightning, maybe?—cut through the room, dividing them and everything fell dark and still. Of course this streak was only in JC's mind and he forced himself back to the present.
Something was coming an he was unable to stop it. Though the thought passed quickly and was forgotten, for the moment, JC's insides twisted as reality set in: that when it came he would be alone, helpless, that when it came it would get what it had come for.
~*~
Lance's eyes grew wide with terror. Darkness had seeped into the room, and mere facets of streaming moonlight penetrated the slightly moving curtains.
Something is stirring in me, Lance thought suddenly, wildly, unconscious of what it was that was waking beneath the coat of flesh. Something is stirring in all of us. It will come. It will be born out of terror, out of madness.
This word, with shivering amazement, was a familiar to Lance, or something deep within Lance, something he was barely aware of.
He bit down on the gag, wishing at that moment that his hands were free so he could pull the soggy, wretched piece of cloth from his lips. Tears surged, spilling down his cheeks. He knew how futile the struggle was, that he most likely wouldn't get free, or get out. His missed his brothers and the "freedom" of their Pop Odyssey Tour. He missed the sunlight, and natural sleep patterns. His missed his life and normalcy. The gag hurt his jaw and he had no idea how long it had been in his mouth. It was quite soggy with salvia, and now, tears added to the moisture. Though Lance didn't speak just to hear himself speak, he longed for his voice to clear away the silence. He missed singing. He missed—more tears. The tears were more for his brothers than himself.
He was scared, for his own life and sanity. He was scared he'd already lost his sanity, that he was confined to some institution and this was all some drug-induced dram that he would never escape from. He let the tears fall for a few more countless minutes; countless because he had given up trying to define time in this place that he was; in this space that he was. Finally, he managed to get his eyes open, blinking several times before they obeyed his wishes.
First, stark blackness. Then, his eyes adjusted to a muted dark, and thirdly, faint streaks of light, the moon's gift, poured in. He turned his head towards this light and was met with dizziness swimming through his head like warm blood.
Originally, he had found himself painfully on his back on the floor, his bound hands crushed and nearly numb. He tried to remember how he'd gotten there, but had no food to fuel his mind. Gingerly, he worked himself up to a sitting position, flexing his fingers to return circulation. He'd opened his eyes a while ago, first to be met with utter dark but a sudden ripple of white light had driven terror into him like a stake into a vampire.
Was it real? he thought, his heart fluttering as his eyes widened with terror. But that was all he had seen for the moment. The flash was almost like heat lightning, though he was inside. A blush of heat lit up his face, and he was confused at his reactions.
Now, after the tears, he was looking into the silent dark once again, fearful at what was out there. And, again it came. A feverish light twisting through the room. Only this time, it didn't vanish. Lance, voyeur in his captivity, watched his heart fill up with terror. He knew closing his eyes wouldn't make it any better, so he watched. The light at first appeared to be ribbon-like; its presence tracing out shapes in the air as if it were fire. Though it almost hurt his eyes to look, he didn't look away.
The white light drifted from the air, settling on the floor in a gracious heap. Lance bit down on his gag to keep from screaming; he strained his eyes to see if what he was really seeing was true.
The light was set on defining itself—blobs of it used the darkness as a crutch, wiping unused light into it. Before too long, Lance could see hands—white, luminous, hands, bony, skeleton-like. Ghost-like. A shiver violated Lance's body, taunting in his ear that he was going back to the dark, unconscious place. Lance refused, and continued to stare. A luminous, ghost body rippled to its hands and knees...and then Lance could almost make out actual skin and hair. Near features. He saws its gender. Female. A whimper betrayed him; he was unexpecting of...well, anything. His last hope that it would all just go away disappeared.
The ghost swiveled its face towards Lance; he wondered if its hair was black or if it was merely the stark white against the darkness that was playing games with his mind. Poisonous; though Lance didn't feel he was in any exact danger at that moment.
The ghost had lips that were an ancient red, eyes that were brown and sincere. Well, they weren't actual eyes but illusions; perhaps Lance's mind had created them because he was too afraid to look into such a face with only vacant eye sockets staring back at him. The ghost's lips turned up in a gentle smile, and a faint blush appeared on its cheeks. Lance was unsure if any of this was possible; if what he'd read up till now was a lie.
And then she spoke to him. Though her lips moved, the voice didn't seem to directly come from her; as if she were a silent movie star with someone else's mismatched voice attempting to animate her. Lance didn't feel threatened; he knew this wasn't a joke. Time still had to get in sync with the girl; time had passed her by and was now returning like a memory.
"Beauregard."
The name struck him with fear; it was the same voice from the window when he'd been dragged into this place. She looked at him with awe and he stared back, afraid now to look away. Nothing existed but these moments unfolding; there was no world outside, no world going on, no people living their lives or people being worried about Lance's safety. There was no one outside these walls, watching, and he was not contemplating the greater scale. Nothing existed but these moments. Nothing.
She stretched her ghost fingers towards his face. He was unable to flinch.
"I knew it was you." Her voice was like dew breaking open on morning flowers. How many worlds new dew created. How many. But there was nothing beyond this. No obligations.
The ghost hand was on him, stroking his hair. He felt nothing, but could sense the light near him. A shimmering finger traced the renament of a tear down Lance's cheek. "I knew you would come back."
Back? Was there a world outside then, a world where he had been once? Did that world truly exist?
"How I've longed to hear your voice." Her voice almost matched her mouth as it moved. The fingers paused near Lance's gagged mouth. "Will you tell me you love me?"
Lance was struck with such warmth. Hold on. Hold on. Don't be scared. May your smile shine on. Don't be scared. Your destiny may keep you on. Cuz all of the stars are fading away. Try not to worry, you'll see them someday. It came in the form of these words. It was not his voice or hers; it was a voice unrecognizable.
Her ghost fingers locked around the cloth. As Lance was thinking it was impossible for her to free his lips, she followed through. Startled, Lance took his eyes from her for only a moment, peering down into the abyss of dark. When he rose his eyes to the level where she would be, there was only darkness. Lance's eyes watered at the furious change of dark and light. He flexed his jaw. His gag hung dumbly about his neck.
~*~
A more than frequent occurrence now, Lance was unsure how the time had passed so quickly. He was sure it had been some kind of hallucination, probably drug-induced, except now it was day and Little Flower had found a way into the room, and was now accosting him about his present state. As Lance stared up at her, he understood that she hadn't been watching him after all; not last night at least.
"Well, Lancælot," she said, her voice shrill and uninviting next to the sweet hum of last night's girl. Where the ghost was a light in the dark, Little Flower was dark in the light. Yin and Yang. She toed him in the chest with her black boot. He grunted, but struggled to remain in a sitting position.
Alexander had let himself in as well, checking that Lance's hands were still secure. "Tight," he told her after giving Lance's ropes a tug.
"Well?" she continued, staring at Lance with hard, black eyes.
"Well?" Lance repeated, his voice creaking after not being used in a while.
Little Flower's eyes widened. "How'd you get the gag out of your mouth?" she pressed, squatting down to his level and giving the cloth around his neck a cruel yank.
"I—" Lance realized he couldn't tell her the truth, or his version of the truth. Actually, the concept was beyond absurd, and Lance started to believe it to be so. "I—I don't know." His voice trembled, sincerity trading roles with actual truth. He wasn't sure which card to actually play.
Little Flower brought her fist up to Lance's cheek. The blow stunned him, but he repeated his answer before she had a chance to ask again. "You don't know?" she surmised, standing back up to look down on him. "Are you lying to me?"
So there was an outside world. There were obligations. Lance didn't want to betray her; when she'd been near him, he'd felt warm and almost safe though he was a hostage. If he spoke of her, would she return to him, would she still care? He choked on that thought; the ghost hadn't left her name. "I—"
But before he could make up a story, Little Flower had pivoted and was walking toward the door. She was obviously enraged. Alexander joined her and then the two of them discussed something Lance was not privy to.
"What do you think it is?" Alexander whispered.
Little Flower scowled. "I don't know. I guess this place has more idiosyncorcies than I originally figured. You get him into a chair and I'll get some food and water and drugs and see if I can get him to reveal anything, either before or after the drugs."
Alexander nodded. "Get the tape recorder too. We can leave it in here because something screwed with the bugs. I reviewed all the tapes and all I picked up was static."
"We will just not mention this to Janus," Little Flower spat, angry at the mishap. "This never existed."
Alexander nodded again, and then went to Lance.
Lance watched the man approach with dread. He knew they wanted answers, yet he didn't know what the best one was to give. A lie or the truth? And did it matter?
Alexander dragged a mahogany chair adjacent to the piano bench. Then, grabbing Lance under the armpits, he hoisted the frightened young man into the chair. Now with the gag removed, Lance protested. "What's going on? Why am I so special to you?"
Alexander bent down, glaring in Lance's pupils. "You think you're special?" He paused. "It's not actually you."
"What?"
Alexander gestured towards a mirror in which neither was reflected. "There are two, didn't you know?"
"Two?" Lance repeated, the thick Southern accent evident through confusion. "Two what? Mirrors?"
Alexander grabbed Lance's chin, yet Lance wretched away in defiance. "Maybe we shouldn't feed you. How would you like that?"
Though his stomach could have answered, Lance's mouth shaped a better answer: "Then I'd die and you'd get nothing."
Alexander's eyes opened like switchblades. Before he could answer with "You think that's so," Little Flower returned with various supplies.
Though hunger and thirst were nearly ripping him open, he didn't want to be interrogated yet; not when he was getting a rise out of Alexander. He needed to find answers. So there was a world out there. There was, and people were looking for him and missing him. Yes. And within, Lance was looking. Something had been lost within and he had to be the one to locate it first.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Lance pronounced as Little was setting everything down.
"Alexander, take him," she ordered, setting down a bottle of pills and a syringe.
"But it's probably a bluff—" Alexander protested.
Little Flower raised an eyebrow. "Put a gun on him if you're afraid he'll try something."
Lance wasn't listening to anything she said. He was looking past her, at the mirror to which Alexander had referred to. Two? He wanted to know what that meant.
Alexander pulled a blade out of his jacket pocket and loosened the knot on the ropes around Lance's ankles, untying them. He yanked Lance to his feet. "Let's go," he growled, shoving Lance ahead of him.
"My hands," Lance protested.
Alexander snorted. "We're not there yet, Lancælot. But just in case you have the slightest notion to run, I could cut you so quick you wouldn't even know until the blood was pooling at your feet. You wouldn't get far, anyway."
Lance tried to keep his head up as he walked. He tried to keep his voice from shuddering. "But if you kill—"
"Who said anything about killing?" Alexander smirked viciously; Lance could hear it in his voice. He forced Lance up a small flight of stairs. The wood was stained with cherry, dark and lush. At the landing, the new room burst with adornment but the two veered off to the left toward a heavy wooden door.
All the way Lance had been fumbling to collect the right words. Finally he burst out with "Are you going to tell me what's going on? None of you give any straight answers."
"You think you deserve to know what's going on?" Alexander asked.
"Yes. You kidnapped me—"
"Actually that was all Little Flower and her agents."
Lance took a breath. "What are there two of?"
"I think I like you better when you're gagged."
"Why won't you answer any of my questions?"
"Do you think I know all the answers, Lancælot? Don't you think that you have some of the answers?"
"Me?" The thought struck Lance with a violent shiver. "And...why do you call me Lancælot?"
"It's your name. I thought this was already explained to you on day one."
"But—"
"Listen," Alexander growled, "do you really need the bathroom or was this just an attempt to get me to spill something?"
Lance stared at the door. "I really need to go."
"Fine." Alexander slid the blade into the knot, making sure Lance felt the cold steel against his wrist. As he unraveled the ropes, he said, "You have five minutes. You don't come out then, I'll come in. I'd rather not." He was emotionally dead as he spoke to Lance.
Lance was filled with creeping disgust and tried to focus his thoughts. He went inside and locked the door.
Outside, Alexander played with the blade and studied his watch. In the next room over, one that wrapped around the corner like a spiral staircase, a white fog was gathering. The back of Alexander's neck prickled. Slowly, he rose his hand to calm the hairs standing on end. Funny, he thought, all emotion is supposed to be gone.... He stood that way until the door knob started to turn. He pulled back, ready to draw his gun if necessary.
When the door opened, Lance had a determined look on his face.
It caught Alexander a bit off guard. His fingers slipped off the gun within his jacket. "What, Lancælot—" he began.
"We have some things to discuss," Lance told Alexander. His voice was stronger than he'd originally thought it would be.
~*~
After his ghostly experience, and what had followed it, JC didn't cry. He'd lost most of his emotion, and sat on the couch, waiting in stewing dread for the moment that he was to be alone. The others tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't let them in.
Chris sensed that JC was getting farther and farther away from them, but he didn't know how to rescue his younger brother from the unknown. He dropped down on the couch a few hours after JC went from hysterical to emotionless, and was perplexed when he could barely get two words from JC. Even those he had to coerce out of him.
"Hey, JC. You sleeping?" A long pause before JC said "no."
While Chris blabbered on, trying to make jokes and lighten the mood, JC thought back to moments frozen in time. He still couldn't make himself cry.
Chris was unnerved when he playfully punched JC's arm: JC was cold as ice. Chris couldn't help shaking him. JC's despair deepened: more cruelty from his brothers. Joey had already called him hysterical, and Justin had twisted his wrist.
Receiving little response, Chris had finally given up, leaving the room in a huff.
JC's eyes strayed to the empty room. "No one," he sighed. "I'm in a lot of trouble."
No one answered his fears.
He looked around once before he climbing to his feet. It was the first time he'd stood in hours. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd wandered to the door and his hand was turning the knob. It wouldn't open because of the locks, but he tried to pull it open anyway.
~*~
Deep in the French Quarter, a very old woman wearing a red head scarf moved a crudely made doll along the edge of the counter in her shop. From the top of the doll dangled a strand of stolen hair. She made it waddle to the end of the counter, and crunched her gnarled fingers around its head. Its crudely drawn eyes stared blankly into the darkness.
"Now, my boy," the woman muttered, willing it to go. She used such tactics before—with good results. Dangerously good. "Now, my boy," she repeated, "open that door—"
~*~
JC continued to pull on the door, unconsciously letting his hands stray to the locks, opening them....
He pulled the door open. The hallway was empty—no bodyguards protecting. JC didn't seem to care; he wandered aimlessly.
The noise of the lock clicking against the door brought Joey into the room. He hadn't come immediately because he thought he'd merely been imagining it...but then he most definitely heard the sound of a door opening....
His mouth dropped open and the back of his neck began to prickle. "Guys! Guys!" he yelled. "Get out here!"
Judging by his tone, Justin and Chris immediately let the video game controllers slip from their hands. They dashed into the central room. The door to their suite was wide open.
"Johnny?" Joey tried to keep his voice from shaking. He was glad their manager had picked up the phone so quickly. He couldn't bear to hold this in. "JC's missing. What? I don't know. I came out here and the door was open and—Chris and Justin went to look for him—they're both together—Johnny, I don't know—"
~*~
Alexander raised his black eyebrow at Lancælot's boldness. "Oh, really?" he managed, suppressing cruel laughter.
Lance was about to continue when Alexander's cell phone buzzed. He bit his lip as Alexander picked up the cell.
"Yeah?"
"He's on the move, Mr. Benton," the voice on the other end of the line crackled.
"Oh, really?" Well, the old woman came through. "You know what to do."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll be there ASAP." Hanging up, Alexander quickly grabbed Lance by the front of the shirt. "Don't make me hurt you," he breathed in Lance's ear when Lance struggled.
"You owe me answers," Lance spat.
Releasing his shirt, Alexander wrenched Lance's arm behind his back. "Change of plans."
"Tell me!" Lance shouted, kicking backwards.
Alexander took the blow and pulled on Lance's arm much harder. Satisfied with Lance's groan of pain, he let a bit of his cruel emotion show. "You are lucky I haven't killed you, Lancælot. It would be so easy."
Lance scowled at the comments, trying to ignore his pain. "You're—bluffing."
Alexander's eyes widened. He twisted Lance's arm further. "I could break your arm, right here, right now. Do you think I'm bluffing?"
Lance's tolerance of pain went from mild to nearly less then zero. Tears formed, glassing his eyes. For a moment, there was a sense of vertigo slipping, but then Lance came back. He was still fighting.
"No answer," Alexander muttered to himself. He pulled just a slight more; he knew if he went too far, Lancælot's arm would snap into two or three pieces beneath the skin. Lance let a pained scream escape, cold sweat invading his pores. Alexander grinned out of sheer meanness. "See, now that wasn't hard."
He eased up his grip just enough so he was still causing Lance pain, but not so much to break his arm. He was enjoying this torture...paining his victim whom Little Flower seemed to — but when it came down to it, he couldn't say "love" or even think "love." He let the thought slip into a crack in the floor.
"Where is this fire coming from, Lancælot?" Lance grunted and Alexander taunted him. "What's that? I didn't quite catch it."
Lance used his free hand to lash back at Alexander. "There were two, didn't you know?" Alexander taunted in Lance's ear after he'd grabbed his other arm.
"Little Flower is going to tear you apart. You think this is pain?" His eyes flashed dangerously. "You want answers, Lancælot? She's got them—well, she's got to get them out of you."
Lance's face scrunched up in confusion. "What?"
"Keep your mouth shut."
Lance, still filled with fight, tried to protest. It only further angered Alexander. He slammed Lance into a wall. Jarred, Lance cried out. "I told you to shut up." Alexander shoved Lance into the wall again. His face connected with a sickening thud. The world began to spin. Alexander used Lance's moment of disorientation to re-tie Lance's hands behind his back.
When Lance came to his senses, he realized they were bound tighter than before. Before he'd realized it, he'd been forced down the stairs, back into the room he'd been kept in. He was a fly dangling helplessly before the sticky web of the spider.
Little Flower's black eyes settled on Lance, ready to devour with the sharpness of her teeth.
This was one such a look Alexander secretly feared. He wanted Little Flower to only look at him that way, and not her kidnap victim. Still, he knew, or rather hoped, that it was just...business.
"You're going out?" Little Flower mock pouted after Alexander had deposited Lance in the chair, binding his feet together and securing a rope around Lance and the chair.
"He's all yours, Little Flower." He held her with his gaze, and they shared a deep, dark moment.
"So, it's time," she whispered.
His occult blue eyes steel. "Yes."
She turned on her heel. "Don't screw it up, like less time."
"Who's in charge of the casefile And Then There Were Three? You or me?"
Little Flower saw him reflected through their dark moment. He was gone before she even had a chance to reply.
~*~
JC wandered aimlessly, as if he were in a trance. Something was calling him, and he needed to find the source of the voice. He just didn't know how. He didn't think anything about being in danger until after an unknown pair of men lunged at him, pressing a cloth over his mouth, pressing him against the wall. The fragrance was all too familiar. Danger welled up inside of him and he tried to scream. But then they let go, and vanished, and he was left alone, with the world spinning from dark to light.
He fell on his hands and knees. It wasn't enough to knock him out, and he pushed himself up onto his knees, using the wall to steady himself. He had heard voices, calling him while he was being attacked. They were frantic, shrill voices. "JC! JC! Where are you?" This was the concerned side of Justin, not the one who wanted to hurt JC or distance him from the group.
Panic fluttered around JC's heart, pacing it quicker and quicker. On the ground, JC started to freak out. "I need to get back to them," he whispered hoarsely, his mind becoming further disoriented. Climbing back to his own feet almost made him pass out. He used the wall to steady his walk, dropping his head and covering his eyes at the bright lights in the hallway. He hoped he was going the right way.
"JC! Answer us!" Chris called, panicking.
"Where could he have gone so fast?" Justin wondered, trying not to be hysterical. They continued to search, but paused in their yelling.
"I don't know, J," Chris answered, his voice half clipped as he tried to steady it. "When I was trying to talk to him it was like he was in a trance or something."
"I wonder what happened so he won't talk to us." He inhaled sharply. "We've gotta find him, Chris."
Chris nodded, trying to suppress the terror of a thousand new, screaming thoughts. He instead put all of his energy into searching. "JC! Are you out there?"
"JC can you hear us?!" Justin cried, his voice thin and ready to break.
Where JC was, the voices of familiarity were slowly fading away...