by silverluna
Chapter Five
Lance continued to stand still. What? What did he just call me?
The man walked around Lance. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexander." He stopped in front of Lance. "You're scared, aren't you?" He gave a hint of a sneering smile. "You don't know where you are or why you are here. Or who you are."
At this, Lance made the slightest utterance.
Alexander gripped Lance's arm, forcing him to walk with him towards a wall. An expensive mirror with intricate, gold trim decorated the wall. "This is the looking glass, Lancælot. Did you know?"
Lance was horrified at his own appearance. A wide strip of duct tape gagged back his cries. His hair was disheveled, and his face was dirty. He could barely recognize himself, in this flustered and scared state.
Alexander was smiling. "Are you worried about your petty friends? You think they will care that you are missing?"
Lance winced at the bitterness in Alexander's voice. His own unsure eyes couldn't help from straying up to Alexander's oddly colored eyes. They seemed so....old....
"Alexander?" an aged voice called out.
Alexander turned, still gripping Lance's arm. "Sir?"
"He has arrived?"
"Yes, sir. Do you wish to see him?"
Lance's whole face prickled with anxiety. He was terrified.
"Yes." This was drawn out. "Bring him to me."
Alexander pulled Lance deeper into the room. Lance tried to resist but Alexander forced him behind the screen.
"He's a wily one, isn't he?" the balding man sitting at the desk asked.
"Nah. He's just scared out of his mind."
The older man chuckled. "Don't let Agent Little Flower hear you say that. That's her job."
Lance tried to back away, but he backed into Alexander, who snaked an arm around his throat.
"Not too tight," the older man instructed.
Lance surveyed the man. He had an average face, with steely, brown eyes seemingly welded into it. His forehead was wrinkled with age, and his mouth rested in a calm, almost half smile position.
"Yes. Well," the man said, after looking Lance up and down. Lance was visibly shaking. "I am Mr. Janus. You have met Mr. Alexander, yes?" Lance was trying his best not freak out. "There's someone that I'm dying to have you meet, Mr. Lancælot. May I call you Mr. Lancælot?" His voice was shockingly cheery, like frostbite. Janus nodded. "Mr. Alexander?"
Alexander gestured with his free arm. He turned Lance towards another doorway.
A person stepped into the vivid light.
Lance's terror and shock caught in his windpipe, threatening to choke him. He blinked several times. I am seeing things? Is this really happening?
Before him stood the nerdy fan that had made him so uneasy a few nights before. The girl with the crimped, messy hair pulled into two side ponytails. She wore thick, horn rimmed glasses, and bright, red cherry chapstick. Her 80's style clothes were present, as well as the retainer in her mouth. Her hands gripped a notepad and pen. Her dark eyes caressed Lance, her tongue playing over her lips. As if she were somehow in command. As if she meant to dominant him, even in this demure state.
Exactly.....
Finally, she could no longer hold it in. She laughed, darkness escaping from her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance could see Janus. He looked amused. He couldn't see Alexander, but heard him laughing also. Lance was bewildered. What....what's going on?
The girl uprighted herself, trying to regain her composure.
"Does she look familiar to you, Lancælot?" Alexander whispered in Lance's ear. Lance shuddered.
As Lance watched in confusion, the girl spit the retainer out. She unclipped the fake hair from her head, pealing off the out-dated clothing, and then removed the glasses. She set these down on a table. Viciously, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She wiped her hand on her fitted, black suit which she had concealed under the 80's clothing. She combed her hair through her jet-black hair.
Lance's chest heaved rapidly. This was not a teenager. She was a woman in her late twenties. She cackled with disharmonious laughter. Alexander joined her.
She strutted towards Lance. "Oh, Lancælot ," she said with a celtic lilt, "if you could have seen your face!" She straightened, her features darkening. "It was priceless," she rasped in his ear.
Alexander let go of Lance, shoving him against Janus' desk. He pushed Lance down in a chair. Then he introduced the woman. "This is special agent Little Flower."
Little Flower, Lance repeated internally, nervous.
She watched his face. "I was there, you know," she lilted. "When I saw you, I knew I had to have you."
This was said so sweetly; Lance felt like he was a puppy in a pet shop, waiting. But no hope ever came.
"It was no accident, you know," she went on. Her dark eyes edged over him. "You know that, don't you?" She was rewarded with his face white-washing itself. Lance knew he was near tears.
Alexander and Little Flower sat, waiting for Janus to begin. "Now, Mr. Lancælot, I know you were brought here under frightening circumstances." He gestured. "The restraints were just a precaution, you understand, don't you?" He waited. "Well, no matter." Janus gazed at Little Flower. "Do you have the key?"
She produced a shiny, metal key from her pocket, dazzling it in front of her eyes. "No. I haven't seen it."
Janus looked amused again.
Alexander yanked Lance up, and, taking the key from Little Flower, unlocked the handcuffs. Before Lance could even move his hands, he felt his hair being gripped tightly. Alexander ripped the tape from Lance's mouth. Lance yelped in pain. Tears surged into his eyes. Alexander shoved Lance back into the chair.
Little Flower sat up straighter. "You don't know pain," she murmured.
"Thank you, Mr. Alexander. Now, Mr. Lancælot, let's get down to business."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Lance interrupted.
Janus' mouth deepened into a scowl. "Do not make me regret taking the gag off your mouth, Mr. Lancælot." Lance started at his tone. "You will not speak until you are directly spoken to." His face cheered again. "Now, as I was saying, you have some information locked in your brain that we need."
Lance bit his lip to keep from arguing.
"I am head of all of the casefiles, Mr. Lancælot," Janus continued. "Agent Little Flower and Mr. Alexander are heading up yours, which is imperative" —he eyed Little Flower— "that we solve."
All of what casefiles? Me? I have a casefile? What information could I possibly have?? Lance's thoughts were racing.
"You know, Lancælot." Little Flower stalked over to him.
"N-no," Lance gasped. "I don't—"
She produced a sharp blade from insider her jacket. She rested it under his chin. Seductively, she let it slip down his throat. Lance's adam's apple moved furiously, his whole body tightening with fear. Please don't kill me....
Janus and Alexander watched her act.
"Well, Lancælot, genetics is fun, isn't it now?"
Lance felt the blade against his flesh. It was digging in. He felt his head being struck with red. Crimson was running down past his eyes like a waterfall. His mouth went dry as cotton. Far away, someone was singing. Softly. Lance shot forward, his head burning as if on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. The silence rushed into his mind like a torrent of surf crashing on a vacant beach. Slowly, he picked his head up. His eyes were black.
Janus waited, his hands folded in front of him. "You will tell us now, Lancælot?"
Janus was gazed suspiciously through black eyes. The figure belonging to the now void-black eyes licked his lips. "I will tell you nothing," he said in a deep voice. "I have seen something in your aura. Something evil. You will not find what you are seeking."
Janus and Alexander sat there, emotionless. Little Flower licked the blade. "That's what you think." She put the dull edge of the blade against his forehead. "I could kill you so easily right now, Lancælot. I could," she rasped in his ear. "But that's not why I brought you here. There's something deep in this mind of yours." She put her lips against his forehead and kissed him tenderly. "But if it comes to it, I will kill you. To find it, I will do anything...." She bit his earlobe.
From within himself, Lance was fighting to come to the surface. He was drowning in a sea of blood. It was invading his mouth, his nose. He could taste copper. Something fell past him. He couldn't tell what it was. It was sinking. He pushed the bubbles out of his lungs. They hung like beads above him. He used them to climb. He opened his green eyes slowly, as if they were a door, and he was unsure of what was on the other side.
The people holding him hostage were staring at him, as if expecting something from him. He sat frozen, waiting for one of them to speak first. At last, Janus pressed his hands flat on the desk. "Well, Mr. Lancæot, it seems like you are going to be difficult."
Lance wondered what he was talking about. "I-I don't understand," he whispered. "Just tell me what you want. What is it? Money?" he pleaded.
Janus, Alexander, and Little Flower laughed. "Money? Money, darling?" Little Flower cackled.
Lance gripped the arms of the chair. If not money.....then...what?
Little Flower ran the dull edge of the blade over Lance's neck. "In time, darling," she whispered, "in time, you'll remember." She laughed wickedly when she felt him shudder against her ear.
~*~
A young woman with unfurled, chocolate curls giggled. "Ubi sunt?" ("Where are they now?"). He grasped the tire swing, pulling her back against him. "What year is it, Kikiriki?" Her face lit up. "It is 18 hundred 99, the year of our Lord."
"Yes, and why does this Latin enter into and thread over your lips?"
She stared straight ahead. "I like the way it sounds," she retorted playfully after a moment. Her eyes caught the sunlight. When she had blinked it out, she looked down the path at an approaching figure. She jumped from the tire swing, her long white dress causing her to stumble.
He caught her. "Est vir qui adest." ("It is this man here"). It rolled off her tongue without her realizing, so he didn't take the time to admonish her from not speaking proper English. Besides, he had noticed the anixety in her voice. Her manner was tense, and he squinted past the sun to see what she was looking at. He swallowed and set his jaw. "Please, do not let this come to pass, Thomas," she pleaded softly. She looked in his eyes. "I love another."
He squeezed her hand. "I know," he muttered. "I know."
~*~
He didn't know when or how, but he'd gone to sleep. There was a voice in his mind. It said: Do not be afraid. I have loved you all of your life. You haunt me. The disembodied voice was floating around his head like the half-haze of a ghost. The voice was silvery, and he felt himself slipping farther under the phantom waves of sleep. Always, the voice whispered. He felt out of his body. Out of his mind....
His world was beginning to shake. He felt pressure by his neck. His eyelids, like arrows, forced their way open.
"Geez, JC, you can fall asleep anywhere, can't you?" JC gazed up into Chris' eyes. Chris, as JC, appeared to be haggard and grim.
JC slowly sat up. He was on the couch. He remembered. The four of them, along with Johnny, had talked for a while. At one point, they had gotten hungry, so Joey had gone with a bodyguard to find some food. Justin had appeared hunkered down beneath the bags under his eyes. He went into his room to sleep for a while. "I don't even remember lying down," JC muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Did you sleep?" he questioned Chris.
Chris shook his head. "I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I either envisioned myself drowning in puke or...I kept reliving it. I kept seeing those bastards take Lance...."
JC shuddered. "God. Lance."
Chris opened his mouth to criticize, but noticed the sadness in those words. He hadn't forgotten.
"Is Joey back yet?" JC asked, chewing on a nail.
"No. I just wanted to talk to you. I couldn't sleep so I've been thinking."
"About everything?" Duh, he thought to himself.
"Yeah." Chris sat down, crossing his arms. "I just can't—I don't get it. I can't figure it out." He looked in JC's eyes. "Why would they just take Lance for?"
"I—don't have an answer. I wish I did."
"I mean, I still can't believe what Johnny said."
JC stared off into space. "I know. It's....crazy. It can't be for money. I just have this feeling that it's something deeper...."
"You said that before."
JC shrugged. "I dunno. It's just this connection or something...." He paused, rolling his eyes. "I guess it doesn't make as much sense out loud as it did in my head."
Chris didn't say anything for a moment. He was tapping his foot against the floor, unconsciously. "C? Do you...feel...guilty about Lance's abduction?"
JC felt something inside himself twist. "Yes. I damn well do," he snapped. Then he frowned, dropping his eyes.
Chris didn't flinch or take offense. "Well, I do too." JC studied the couch fabric. "But, like I told you, I was doing some thinking. It's not like we were responsible. Or that we could have done anything to help."
JC sighed. "I—I feel like I should have been able to." He slowly looked up to Chris. "You guys too. But I couldn't even help myself."
"We couldn't help ourselves either, JC. I went over it a thousand times already. I wanted to help you and Justin and Joey. I wanted to help Lance, but damn, the guy that had me was strong . Besides, JC, they drugged us."
"I know, but if I coulda just—"
"Me too," Chris finished quietly.
"Ifs aren't helping Lance, are they?" JC muttered.
"Maybe."
JC's brow furrowed with confusion.
"I mean, if we could remember more details, maybe we could start to piece this puzzle together."
"Maybe," JC agreed. He thought back to their earlier conversation with Johnny.
JC, Joey, Justin, and Chris had told Johnny everything that happened. Johnny had listened, obviously disturbed by their words. "This is what I know," Johnny began after they were done. "There weren't any witnesses that have come forward so far. We've got some of the security team on the streets checking around. Dre said he was following you out of the club, but he got tangled in the crowd."
Got tangled in a crowd? Joey reiterated in his mind. Geez. Dre's big enough to be half the crowd....
"I swear he was right behind us on the stairs," Justin protested.
"Look, Justin," Johnny attempted, trying not to upset them further, "what's done is done. I'm only giving details to help."
Justin sat back, biting his lip.
"My guess is that Lance's kidnapping is for ransom." He held up his hand when they started to argue. "That's what I'm holding out for right now." He didn't want to enter upon his deeper fears of what may have happened to Lance, so he continued. "We discussed it with management, and I'm not calling the police until we get a call from the kidnappers."
"If they ask for money, we're gonna pay it, aren't we?" Justin asked, his voice slightly choked up.
"Justin," JC soothed, trying to stay in control. He nodded for Johnny to go on.
"And, if the kidnappers do not call within 72 hours from now, I'm handing this over to the police...." He noticed their apprehensive looks. "Look, I'll do my best to keep this away from the media."
"Lance's well-being may depend on it," Joey said grimly.
Three days of not knowing where Lance was or if he was getting hurt weighed down on them. They didn't want to even think of the possibility that it could be longer. That it could be....never....
The door opened. Joey and Lonnie stepped in, with bags from McDonalds in their hands.
"Go wake up Justin for our fine dining," JC told Chris. He tried to put a humorous spin on it, but it his heart really wasn't in it.
The four of them sat in the living room area. Johnny had gone back to his own room take care of the things he had control over. The TV was on but no one was really watching it. The images blurred by in a haze. Joey noticed with relief that they weren't in the news anywhere. He tried not to imagine the screaming headlines in papers or the teary teenyboppers that the news teams would interview. His _expression soured further.
As Justin ate, he wondered about where Lance was and what was happening to him. A French fry expanded on his tongue, but he couldn't make himself swallow it.
JC noticed that Justin was just sitting there. "Justin?"
Justin made himself swallow it, though he felt the guilt rising like bile. He looked in JC's eyes. He saw a hint of guilt there too.
They were all thinking the same thing.
"What if....they aren't feeding him?" Justin finally voiced softly.
There was a strained silence. Chris hadn't eaten very much. He dipped his fingers into a puddle of ketchup.
"Chris," Joey admonished in disgust.
"Sorry," Chris muttered, wiping his hands.
Joey's food was almost tasteless. He didn't want to eat it. A thought occurred to him, so he decided to say it. "Look," he said, getting there attention. "This is probably gonna sound horrible, but we need to keep eating and try not to think about Lance—whether or not he's being fed."
Chris, JC, and Justin tried not to look horrified.
Joey fidgeted. "What I mean is, he's in trouble. He's helpless, and we're on the outside. He needs us to be strong and functioning. If we don't eat, we can't think clearly. He needs us to get him out of trouble." Joey wanted to clarify further, but he felt tears coming. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
They looked at each other. There was something in all of their eyes. They nodded.
~*~
Lance opened his eyes, observing his new surroundings. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten here. But here he was. It was mostly dark in the room, but muted lights embedded in the ceiling shone down a little bit. Lance looked around. The walls and floor were padded. Am I....crazy? he wondered.
The door swung open. Lance pushed himself against a wall. To the figure standing in the doorway, Lance realized he was completely exposed, because all of the light from the ceiling was falling on him in this place.
It was the woman with the sadistic features. She gripped a paper bag in one hand. Lance was on the floor, staring up at her darkness. What does she want? he wondered apprehensively. She walked in most of the way, dropping the bag on the floor. "Eat up." Her voice was hard and cold. She dropped something else to the floor before turning and stalking out without another word. She locked the door behind her. Lance sat still until the ghosts of her footsteps were gone. He crawled to the bag, discovering sandwiches and a bottle of water. Feeling light-headed at the mere smell of food, he ate quickly. He hadn't even realized he was hungry; his fear had knotted his stomach that much. Before he opened the bottle of water, he remembered that she had dropped something else. His hands searched until he located it. It was a little bottle. Holding it up to the muted light, Lance read the words encircling the bottle.
His hands started shaking. The bottle read Bass, James Lance. It was his heart murmur medication. The exact dosage.
"Where did they....get this?" he whispered out loud. He was almost afraid to take it, but he had no choice.
~*~
"Let him get adjusted to this situation," Janus explained to Alexander and Little Flower. "We'll start the process tomorrow." He nodded at Little Flower, smiling. "You were the right woman for the job."
"I still am."
"Yes. Of course."
"What about those friends of his? The ones you had to knock out?" Alexander questioned.
"Lancælot doesn't have any friends," Little Flower sneered. "Not anymore. They'll forget all about him."
"What if they don't?" Alexander pressed.
A steely glint shot across Janus' eyes like heat lightning. "If they try anything, you take care of them." He looked at Little Flower, whose lips were red like blood. "You know what to do."
She nodded. "Yes." And again. "Yes."