CHAPTER ONE
PHILADELPHIA, TWO WEEKS LATER
“Pass the pizza.”
“Which one?”
“Pepperoni.”
Lance handed JC the box. They sat in Lance’s rented apartment, enjoying greatly deserved relaxation. Later they’d meet the rest of the guys for a movie and a night on the town.
Lance sipped his coke. “Isn’t it great to be back?”
“No kidding. Glad Johnny bought the ‘bus wreck’ story.”
They paused to stare at each other, eyes full of terrifying memories and sad truths. Lance had learned more about his past than he cared to remember. JC, like Justin, Chris, and Joey, was put through horrific experiences most would never see in a lifetime.
Lance pushed the TV remote. “It’s probably a good idea if we forget the whole thing ever happened.”
JC bit into his third slice. “How do you forget?”
“Start by changing the conversation.”
Maybe Lance coped with the trauma by avoiding the subject, but somehow, JC found solace in talking the issue out. Oh well. We’re having a fun time. Don’t spoil it, he chastised himself.
JC stood up. “Guess I’d better head to my hotel. I promised to call Bobbie.”
“See you at 10:00?”
“Yeah. Bye.”
The door closed behind JC. Lance jumped up, fixing the chain in place and locking it. Despite security, he still felt unsafe. Every noise startled him. Often he awoke in a cold sweat from nightmares. Yet, he never told the guys about his fearful paranoia.
“They’ve worried about me enough already,” Lance muttered as he cleaned the mess.
It just doesn’t seem fair, he thought when he collapsed on the sofa, switching the TV Off button and opening a book, everyone else is getting along fine. I don’t wanna go through life feeling afraid.
Footsteps pattered down the hall. Lance’s muscles tensed. “Chill Bass,” he said quietly, “It’s a public building.”
I can’t believe the Master’s done this to me.
The Master. A demon whom used fear to steal people’s souls. The same hateful spirit who’d tried to steal Lance’s body. Fortunately he failed, but the side effects still lingered.
Lance reached under his shirt and pulled out his cross. He wore it at all times, but nobody ever noticed. The family heirloom, a small old English blue cross hanging on a thin string, was always passed to the first son. He fingered the ornate carving and the imprint of a star in the middle.
The footsteps stopped. A dark outline shadowed the hall light seeping under the door crack.
Lance’s clammy fingers dropped the cross. Someone’s there.
The doorknob jiggled, slowly at first, then violently. Fists pounded at the door. Lance gulped. “Who is it?”
Part of the wood outside splintered. The door jerked opened partially, the chain restraining it. A black-gloved hand reached in, holding metal cutters.
Snap. The chain broke in half.
Lance wanted to run to the bedroom, dial 911, but his legs were paralyzed with fear. They’re breaking into my apartment!
Creak. The door swung open, revealing 3 masked men dressed in black leather. Lance’s eyes widened. These aren’t hallucinations brought on by paranoia. These are real.
The tallest one, 6ft 10in, stepped forward. “You will come with us,” he rasped, his voice muffled.
Lance shook his head, moving backwards. “N-no.”
He came closer. “Don’t make us force you.” He reached inside his leather jacket, pulling out a gun. “This weapon has a sound suppressor. I could blast 10 holes into the wall and a mouse wouldn’t hear gunfire.”
Fear switched to adrenaline. Lance hopped over the sofa, dashed down the hall, and sprinted to his bedroom. A cordless phone sat on the nightstand by the queen size bed. Lance yanked the phone off its cradle. 2 men jerked his arms behind his back. He watched the phone slide across the floor, panic rising.
“Help!” he tried yelling, but a hand covered his mouth.
Their ringleader shut the door. “Lance, Lance,” he laughed, “It’s useless to struggle.” Lance frowned. His eyes. Where have I seen those eyes before?
Desperate to run, he stomped on his captors’ feet. They instantly released his arms, moaning in pain.
Lance stuck his head out of an open window by the dresser. 2 cops were standing at the corner. “HELP! HELP!” Lance screamed as he waved his arms, “HELP!”
The cops glanced up. Several strangers paused to stare. Relieved he’d caught some attention, Lance cautiously ducked into the bedroom.
All 3 masked men were gone. No trace of them anywhere. Bedroom door remaining shut.
A chill swept through the room. Lance shivered. He couldn’t stop shaking.
***
Patrick and Marty, 2 of Philadelphia’s most vigilant policemen, were puzzled by the peculiar episode at one of the apartment complex windows. “Shouldn’t we check it out?” Patrick wondered.
“Whole thing looks like funny business to me,” replied Marty. “Listen. Do you hear any crashing, screaming, gunshots, etc.?”
Three fleeting shadows passed out of the corner of Patrick’s eye. He gazed into an abandoned alley.
“Need blood…need life…must feed…”
“Hey! Get out of there!” Marty ordered, assuming the trespassers were kids.
Weird growling and snarling sounds sounded its response. Patrick frowned. “Must be animals.” He and his partner went to investigate.
Nothing. Except for the telltale patter of paw prints…
CHAPTER TWO
Ramona fidgeted impatiently outside Philadelphia Airlines. A cab soon pulled up. Ramona climbed in, throwing her raggedy duffel bag on the floor.
“Where to, miss?”
“The Marriott.”
Ramona realized her appearance didn’t fit the standards of ritzy hotel material. Dirty black hair tied in a messy ponytail. A baseball cap shading her lightly freckled nose and brown eyes. Pale skin for someone of Hawaiian blood. Wrinkled, baggy clothes swallowing her small frame.
City lights and nightlife activity passed by the speeding taxi. Ramona twirled the gold ring on her pinky finger. It was the only possession she owned worth any value. She’d had the ring for as long as she could remember. The significance of it was the oddly shaped ruby stone engraved in the middle.
Ramona sat back. Nervousness clouded her resolve, but she knew there was no turning back now.
Ramona Luana Moselle was born in Honolulu, Hawaii. Her father was Hawaiian and mother was American.
Since a little girl, she’d been visited by strange dreams of the past. According to her dreams, she lived in the days of early American colonies.
Of course her parents dismissed them as pure imagination, but Ramona knew otherwise. She was definitely something different, something special.
Her strange abilities extended even further. Have you ever believed you had been destined at birth to meet a certain person, one with whom your mind was connected? Ramona often communicated with a boy. If she reached deep enough into her mind, she could see and speak to another human. Unfortunately, the boy stopped communicating with her several years ago, but Ramona sometimes looked in on him.
She’d see him hanging out with his friends, eating with his family, and participating in other sorts of normal activities. Ramona always tried calling out. Occasionally he’d act like he noticed her, but would never respond.
Now…her life-long search led her to Philadelphia. Inside her gut, Ramona knew she needed to find this man, the one whom she was fated to meet. The meeting was an absolute emergency, because it concerned life-or-death.
Something evil was stirring in the atmosphere. Ramona didn’t understand exactly what, but she still knew.
Perhaps that is why my search is so crazy, Ramona thought as the cab parked at the Marriott lobby, I have no logical explanations.
“That’ll be $12.50.” She handed the driver the last of her pocket change. Great. No supper for me tonight.
The taxi sped off. Ramona turned right and walked, veering to the side of the building next to the parking lot. She zipped open her duffel, pulling out a heavy winter coat and a tiny pillow.
She curled up on the asphalt, rested her head on the pillow, and used the coat as a blanket.
As the peaceful comforts of sleep began to claim her exhausted body, the name of the man crossed Ramona’s mind.
Lance Bass.
***
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
Justin and Joey fidgeted at the crowded bus stop. Joey yawned. “6:30 is much too early to commute to the studio.” Justin shrugged. “We’ve had worse.”
The bus pulled up. They adjusted their hats and sunglasses (makeshift disguises) and climbed aboard.
Joey chose seats near the end.
The vehicle’s wheels rumbled underneath them. Despite the noise of scuttling, talking, and shifting, Justin leaned back and shut his eyes. “Ah, nothing like a twenty minute nap.”
Joey smirked. Hmm, really?
For a few moments all seemed normal. So it seemed.
“Need…want…Justin…Justin…life…revenge…Justin…”
Justin’s eyes flew open. His breathing increased. “D-did you hear that?”
Joey reverted his attention from a magazine. “Hear what?”
Irrational fear creeped inside him. Justin searched for suspicious characters on the bus. Nobody strange. Joey cracked a joke. “You’re not looking for Lost Souls are you?”
He elbowed him angrily. “Of course not.” Lost Souls were the hideous beasts, minions of the Master, who guarded Whispers and terrorized Nsync. Justin could still recall their hot breath, glowing red eyes, sharp claws, and monstrous forms.
“Revenge…revenge…ha…ha ha ha…”
Justin suddenly felt eyes staring at him. Yet, not a single passenger so much as glanced by.
Eyes, he thought in a growing panic, checking me out, watching my every move.
Joey remained unphased. Didn’t he notice the weird sensations?
Reaching its stop, passenger stood to leave. Justin shuffled hesitantly down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Joey pat him on the shoulder, grinning snidely. “Trust me, there’s nothing following you-er-us.”
Joey’s lousy attempt at comfort didn’t lift the cloud of fright weighing Justin. Anger temporarily replaced fear. This isn’t supposed to happen!
They entered the studio, filing past security.
No way. Whispers won’t haunt me forever!
The unthinkable crossed Justin’s mind.
Will it?
CHAPTER THREE
Chris grabbed a towel. Nsync recently finished choreographing dance moves for that night’s charity show. JC gulped his water. “Hey, maybe it’s only my imagination, but hasn’t Lance been acting funny?”
Chris paused to observe Lance sitting on the couch in the corner. Unusually quiet. Unfocused. Paranoid. Jumpy. Upset.
“Yeah man. He called me last night saying he didn’t want to go clubbing with us. Didn’t sound sick, but sure as heck shaky.”
A finger tapped his shoulder. Chris whirled around. Todd, one of their security guards, handed him a small bag of letters. “These arrived at the front desk this morning.”
“Thanks,” Chris nodded absently, flipping through the stack. Typical fan mail of the typical sorts. Except for one particular envelope.
Plain. Not named. Four words scribbled across the front: GIVE TO LANCE. URGENT!
“Yo!” Chris shouted, waving the envelope in front of Lance’s blank face, “Mail for you!”
Lance’s heart leaped into his throat. Unable to speak, he nodded meekly and with shaky fingers, tore the opening.
COME TO THE BEN FRANKLIN MEMORIAL. EMERGENCY! PARENTS IN A CAR CRASH. COULDN’T TELL YOU SOONER. COME NOW!
Maybe, if he were thinking clearly, he would’ve seen the impending danger. Maybe, if he were thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have robotically marched out of the studio, baffling personal at his unprovoked decision.
Maybe, if he were thinking clearly, he would’ve noticed as he turned down sidewalks, crosswalks, and past various buildings, that the air was too still. Maybe, if he were thinking clearly, he might have noticed the emptiness at the Ben Franklin Memorial.
But Lance didn’t know what to think.
A sharp object jabbed into his left kidney. Gloved hands grabbed him by the neck and drug him around the statue. Duct tape slapped onto Lance’s mouth.
“I warned you it was useless to struggle,” a familiarly threatening voice whispered in his ear. 0h gosh, Lance froze, No. Not again.
“Now, listen closely. My gun is sticking into your kidney. If you value life, you will pretend everything’s okay and follow me into that narrow passage between those 2 colonial buildings.”
Lance’s heart pounded furiously. Dread filled his legs as he was forcibly taken into the passage.
A motor hummed. A black van pulled up. “Don’t look at my face,” his assailant whispered, “Don’t look at any of us. You do, and I’ll blow your brains out.” Lance whimpered. “Please don’t kill me…” he tried to plead through the duct tape.
“Shut up!”
The van’s side door opened. A medium cloth bag covered Lance’s head, drawstring tightening at the throat. Lance felt two guys, their leader’s accomplices, take him by the arms and throw him roughly onto the floor of the van.
Their leader climbed into the passenger’s seat by the driver. “Go.”
A knee pressed into the Lance’s back. He moaned. His hands were jerked behind him, rough rope securing them. The same was done to his ankles and knees.
The bag was hot and suffocating. Sweat perspired down Lance’s forehead. Breathing became increasingly difficult. His vision was blocked.
Still in shock, Lance didn’t feel the full effects of total terror until the van speeded up and veered onto the street, driving to the unknown.
Lance heard his kidnapper mention to the driver, “Now we’ll get what we want out of him. He can help us. He knows where it is.” Where what is?!
***
Men wearing masks…threatening demeanors…they threw him into a large car…it drove off…the evil would begin again…explosive red colors swirled amidst the black and white visions.
“Help…help…” he wanted to plea silently.
Ramona jolted awake. 9:23 am. Although probably a regular nightmare, she felt as if the frightening trauma had happened to her. Disheveled appearance and clammy skin, Ramona threw her few possessions into her duffel.
Several cars stopped to stare at this ‘homeless girl’, but she paid no attention.
Ramona unknowingly ran out in front of a car. BEEP! BEEP! She continued running. The scenery blurred around her. Ramona really didn’t understand what it was that she was afraid of, but with the rapid pulse and growing anxiety, she understood.
The evil has found me. It wants me almost as much as it wants Lance, Justin, Joey, Chris, and JC.
She could feel darkness closing in on her. Ramona’s side ached. How easy it would be to stop running.
Oblivious to the car horns, peculiar stares, and people dodging out of her way, Ramona’s panic increased with each step.
The evil has found me.
Time to run or die. Run or die.
Finally Ramona collapsed at the colonial graveyard, pushing aside two tourists. Her hands shook as she clutched the iron bars of the fence.
To the unseeing eye, Ramona simply experienced a panic attack. Ramona knew otherwise.
Her mind had briefly connected to Lance’s. She discovered how he felt, how it felt to be kidnapped. And the demons, the same demons holding him captive, caught on to her.
My identity is no longer secret. Heaven help us.
CHAPTER FOUR
Joey sat silently in his darkened hotel room. It happened. It actually begun. For the others, it was the beginning of the end. For him, it was the beginning of a newfound reign of power.
He closed his eyes. How truly clever he’d been. All the demons saw me as this rookie idiot. If only they could see me now.
When Gandor, one of the ‘generals’, was banished to the Lake of Fire, instead of succumbing to the acidic water and its dooming flames, Gandor released his spirit from its current body, possessing Joey’s.
Yes, he thought gleefully, for the past two weeks, I’ve posed as Joey. Not one has even guessed that I might be Gandor.
For the time being, Joey’s real soul remained dormant, locked inside his own body. Wouldn’t that be a terrible fate? To be imprisoned inside yourself.
Gandor relished his small victory, but without the Master, he was weak. The Master and Kujaur, the Dark Lord of all demons, were the main power sources. Kujaur was gone, banished to hell for eternity.
But the Master…when his spirit was evoked from Lance’s body, all assumed he was sent to hell. No. The Master’s spirit lived on, wandering aimlessly across the earth. With no body to possess, he remained weak and near powerless.
That would soon change.
Gandor opened the door and walked to an elevator. Amazing the feats technology accomplished within 300 years. Living in Whispers was like living in a bubble. Not much changed. This excited Gandor. Once his powers regenerated, imagine the wondrous things he could do with new age machines and technology.
Perhaps become more powerful than the Master.
Gandor strolled down the lobby. Three women started shouting.
“Joey! Joey!”
Gandor smiled and winked. “Hello ladies.”
Squeals of delight deafened his ears. Stupid mortals.
He met up with a group of three men. “Did you kidnap Lance?”
“Yes,” the leader replied, “Nobody knows yet.”
“Good. Our plan is set in perfect motion. It’s time to give terror a new meaning.”