Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.
Back to the story in progress!
Jack
"Hello?" I asked loudly, trying to catch his attention. "Hello? Captor?"
I hadn't ever called him this to his face, but figured he wouldn't mind. He hadn't given me another name to call him, after all. I waited. As odd as it sounded, I actually needed for him to be at home for this to work. I'd already figured out that he only left the house when he drugged me. I didn't want to be right in the middle of this and be surprised by him, so I needed to know exactly where in the house he was when I started. I pressed the button again.
"Are you out there or not?" I asked, waiting.
"Is there something you need?" he asked.
"Just to know you're watching," I said, not holding the button down.
Wrapping my shirt around my hand, I strolled to the center of the room, reached up, and began to unscrew the light bulb. Since it was on all the time, it was too hot for me to touch, normally, but I wasn't having a problem now. I figured he must change the bulb when I was drugged, because it hadn't gone out the entire time I'd been here.
"What are you doing?" he shrieked, his agitation plain even through the voice modulator. I waved at the camera, grinning widely, and then went back to what I was doing.
"Fucking with you for a change," I answered, not pressing the button, knowing he couldn't hear me. Talking back to him like this felt oddly defiant.
I finished unscrewing the bulb, plunging my little cell into complete darkness.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. "Put that back!"
"Fuck you," I said, and then reached for the button. I pressed it. "I'm taking a nap, and I'm tired of doing it with this fucking light on."
"Put that bulb back in now, Jack!" he said. "Put it back in right now!"
"I'll put it back in when I wake up," I said, holding the button in. "Night night."
I went and lay down on the mattress, waiting to see if he'd do what I thought he would. Sure enough, I heard him charging up the stairs. I'd gotten pretty attuned to the noises of the house. He only ever talked to me when he was in the next room, so I assumed the only screen he had was down here. It meant that once I knew he was out of the basement, and wouldn't be walking in, I could get to work. It also meant, though, that I had started a clock ticking. I had to get out, because this was it for me. He would punish me for this, too, and if it was anything like the last punishment, I might not recover. I couldn't take being starved any longer, as I could see by my own arms and legs, and ribs, that I had already lost more weight than could be healthy. And there was no way in hell I was going to take another dose of the laxative punishment.
I waited, and heard the other sound I was listening for, him charging back down the stairs. I heard the door flap moving, and saw the beam of a flashlight come sliding across the floor.
"That's not helping me sleep," I snapped, as he shined it at my face. He jumped and pulled it back through the door flap.
As soon as he retracted it I ran over to the door, and pressed my ear to the flap, listening. He paced the room, muttering to himself, but I still couldn't recognize the voice.
"Jack, I want that light bulb back in the socket," he said, apparently trying to be calm.
"No," I said, holding the button down. "As I see it, oh Captor, my Captor, you have three options. You can wait until I put it back in, you can come in and do it yourself, not knowing if I'm going to bite, claw, or otherwise assault you, or you can let me get some sleep, drug my next sandwich, and put the bulb back in while I'm sedated."
"You worthless cocksucking piece of shit!" he spat.
"Why should you be the only one who gets to play games?" I asked, and then let the button go.
"Jack!" he said. "Jack? You won't like the way this turns out, Jack."
"It's your move," I answered, holding in the button. "I'll be waiting."
I was banking on him being too cowardly to come in and risk a face to face confrontation, and apparently I was right. After a minute or two, during which I calmly sat on the mattress, facing the door, I heard him climb the stairs heavily. I stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the complete darkness, and followed the sound of his footsteps across the room above me. OK. I now knew for sure that he wasn't in the basement with me, watching his side of the door, so I could get to work. I'm not a religious person, but Josh prayed every night, and I directed a silent prayer toward Josh's God, to please help me get out of this and get back to him.
Reaching up, I unhooked my necklace, and crossed the room toward the speaker plate. During the time I'd spent here, I'd been able to memorize every feature of this room, and could navigate it in the complete darkness I'd created. I needed a flat, thin piece of metal with an edge, and the medallion of my necklace was too wide, but I was betting that the speaker plate itself wasn't. All I needed was to get it off of the wall, and that's where the necklace came in. I slid it into the first screw on the speaker plate, and began to turn. It took a second, because the screws were painted over, but I almost cried out when I felt it move. It was a difficult process in the dark, especially with the round medallion slipping out of the grooves on the screws so many times, but I finally got all four screws out. The speaker plate clung to the wall, painted on, and I punched it and heard it clatter to the floor.
Feeling around for it, my hand brushed over it, and I grinned. It was as thin as I had hoped, and would work perfectly. I hooked my necklace back on, not wanting to lose it, and then crossed over with the speaker plate toward the door. This was Captor's mistake, not the plate, but the door itself. The hinges were on my side. I just needed something thin enough and strong enough to pull the pins with. I started with the middle one, figuring that it would be easy to train myself on the one at my height before attempting the other two. After what seemed an eternity of fiddling, I finally managed to get the plate's edge worked in, and after straining, sweating, and cursing, I felt the pin slide up out of the hinge.
And then I heard his feet on the stairs.
"Fuck!" I whispered, running for the bed. I threw myself down on the mattress, my back to the door, cradling the plate and the pin against my chest. The flashlight beam spilled over me again. "I'm not asleep yet."
The beam winked out immediately, and I heard him on the speaker.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why are you provoking me like this? You know how this is going to turn out, Jack."
I walked over to the speaker.
"I'm tired, whoever you are," I said, holding in the button. "I'm tired of playing these games, and I'm tired of listening to you every day. I'm tired of trying to fall asleep with that fucking bulb on, and I'm tired of you being the one with all the cards all the time. I told you, I won't break. I'm not putting the light bulb back in."
I waited, praying he hadn't been upstairs finding a gun, or looking for the courage to open the door. I didn't think I could overpower anyone in a fight right now, and he must know that. I listened to myself breathe, steeling myself to fight as much as I could, but then heard his feet going up the stairs again. Listening carefully for him, I pulled the top pin, and then the bottom one. I was ready, and he hadn't come back downstairs yet. I'd only get one shot at this, and hoped it would work. Squatting, I put my hands through the flap, gripping the bottom of the door like I had that very first day, and I pulled it toward me, cursing under my breath. It began to move, and I stood quickly, not wanting it to fall on me or make a loud noise that might attract him.
I pulled the door open, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I saw something beyond my four walls. I was in a basement, as I'd suspected. On the other side of my wall, I saw a desk with a speaker and a television, and I assumed that it was where he watched me. There was a chair there, and a garbage can overflowing with empty chip bags and soda cans. I wanted to stop and look over the desk, to peek into the drawers to see, finally, which of them it was, but I had no idea of where in the house he was. If I was getting out, I was getting farther than the other side of the door before I got caught.
I padded up the basement stairs, being careful not to stomp my socked feet, and carefully, ever so slowly, turned the doorknob. He hadn't locked it, probably because he never would have guessed that I'd get out, and I grinned in triumph. I so loved being underestimated. Pulling the door open, I paused and listened, waiting, trying to figure out where he was. I heard a creak above my head, and realized he was on the second floor. I needed to find a door and get out right now, so I stepped into the hallway. It was a plain, nondescript hallway, painted white, and some generic art prints hung on the walls. I glanced left and right, trying to figure out which way to go, but both opened toward darkened rooms. I picked left, and walked quickly down the hall and into the living room. A set of stairs rose along one wall, but it was the stuff on the wall to my right that caused me to suck in all of my breath.
The wall was covered with newspaper clippings, completely covered. Some of the pages were older, starting to yellow, but others were brand new. There were magazine clippings mixed in, standing out glossily, and they were covered with mine and Josh's faces. If I saw this scene in a movie, I'd be screaming at the main character to run, to get the hell out of there right now, but I was spellbound. I stepped closer, a hand over my mouth in shock, as my eyes scanned the wall.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
They were all stories about us coming out, about Josh and I as a couple. There were pictures of us on the red carpet, clippings of us going to clubs or movies, pages of our interviews and profiles, radiating outward like a flower from a big center shot, which was the two of us on the cover of "The Advocate". On the edges of it I recognized the originals of the photocopied articles I had been passed. This wasn't just someone keeping track of us, wasn't just a fan. This was obsession, although I should have realized that, and shouldn't have been surprised by it. It was a very specific obsession, that of Josh and I as a couple. I took a step back from the wall, shaking my head, and then heard a footstep on the stairs.
Looking up, I was frozen in horror as I saw Basil Morgan walking down the stairs. If I was surprised, though, he was stunned. He stopped dead, staring at me, as if trying to figure out how in the hell I'd gotten to the living room.
"You!" he snapped.
"Fuck!" I answered.
I glanced at the front door, at the bottom of the steps, and decided in a split second that I wouldn't make it. Turning, I ran back down the hallway, heading for the back, praying there would be a back door as I heard Basil thudding down the stairs behind me, as if me moving had broken his spell. It probably did. I burst through a swinging door into a kitchen, and then he was right there behind me, grabbing my shoulders again, slamming me forward like he had in the alley when he threw me into the dumpster.
I kicked backward, feeling my foot collide somewhere fleshy and hearing him grunt, even as he threw me forward into a wall. I bounced off of it painfully, glancing off of it as my hip banged on the table. Carried forward by the momentum of an extremely overweight man slamming into me, I crashed into the refrigerator, turning myself to see Basil wheezing painfully toward me as he clutched his crotch with one hand. I reached out wildly, grabbing for anything, and swung the first object I found at him as he came. Luckily, it was the frying pan.
The pan connected with his head with a loud banging gong, the vibration running up my arm. I grabbed the handle with my other hand, clutching it in both like a baseball bat as he grunted, falling against me, and I brought it down again as I stepped back, giving myself more room. He dropped to the floor as I danced away from him, and caught himself with his hands. As he began to try to stand I panicked, and brought the frying pan down squarely on his head. He dropped to the floor as if he'd been shot, and I waited, my heart racing, feeling like I was about to pass out. I could barely breathe, the wind still knocked out of me from hitting the wall, but he wasn't moving.
I grabbed the phone off of the wall, fighting for air, seeing black spots on the edge of my vision as my pulse pounded in my ears.
"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"
"My name is Jack Springer, and I've been kidnapped. The man who kidnapped me is named Basil Morgan, he's a reporter, and I think I've hurt him. I think we need an ambulance, and police," I said, aware that I was babbling. "Please help me."
"Sir, do you know where you are?" the operator asked, businesslike.
"No!" I answered, leaning on the wall. "I don't know where I am, and I've been here for weeks. Please, please can you trace this or something? Please, just send a lot of police. I think I knocked him out, but please, please just help me."
Dizzy, weak, I slid down the wall, feeling my knees buckle. Josh wasn't coming, but the police were. I dropped the phone, hearing the operator speaking, but unable to keep following the words. I stared across the kitchen, watching Basil's head bleed on the floor. Basil Morgan. All this time, it had been Basil, the man who thought we stole his story, the man who blamed us for ruining his career. He had worked with Peyton, trying to sabotage me, had tried to blackmail us. He had waited and ambushed Chris and I, claiming that it wasn't over, that I owed him. And he'd gotten his revenge. He'd taken Josh away from me, taken my friends away from me, taken everything away from me. He'd almost taken my life.
I felt anger bubbling up inside me, not just anger, rage. I realized what he had done, thought back to all the days he had taunted me, all the sleep I'd lost. I remembered the night he had punished me with the laxatives, the pain of sitting on the toilet and feeling my stomach cramp. I remembered all the times I had waited to see if I'd be fed today, the fear that I might actually die here. I remembered the nights I had laid alone on the mattress, wishing Josh could be with me, wondering where he was. I thought about the pain he'd put Josh through, and I remembered the feeling of a knife ramming through me when I'd had to fill out that postcard.
And it had all been him.
I stood, my knees shaking, as I realized that I still had the frying pan in my hand. Blood dripped from it, patterning the floor in pointillist designs. I could kill him. I could kill him right now, could hit him with the pan again, and no one would know. I could kill him now, and it would be self-defense. Not just that, it would be karma. It would be justice. He had taken my life, and I could take his, and it would be ok.
I dropped the pan and pulled myself down the hallway, away from the kitchen, back toward the living room. What was wrong with me? My heart was thumping in my chest, and I could barely breathe, barely stand. I was dizzy, supporting myself with the furniture as I pulled myself across the living room. I pulled open the front door, feeling the wind on my face, and squinted in the bright sunshine, so bright, hurting my eyes, washing everything out. I heard sirens in the distance, and realized as I passed out on the porch that it wasn't the sunlight washing everything out. It was me.
That's all I remember. I was told later what happened, that the police came and that an ambulance took me to Cedars Sinai, but I don't remember any of that.
I remember opening my eyes in an all-white room, in bed, and thinking I was back in the basement. I jerked awake with a start, feeling something pull at my arm, and I thrashed in the bed, and suddenly felt someone smothering me, crushing me with their arms.
"No!" I yelled, pushing, wishing I was stronger. I wouldn't let Basil keep me here. "No!"
"Jack! Jack, stop it!" someone yelled, a different voice, a voice I knew. "Jack, please!"
I was in a hospital bed, I realized. The tugging at my arm was an IV, and I'd almost pulled it out. There were sounds behind me, machines, and there were monitor pads on my chest. I stopped struggling as I took all of this in, and the person holding me down stood as I fought to place his name. When I saw his face, with that same half scowl that it carried no matter what his mood, I couldn't believe I didn't know it, couldn't believe that I had ever allowed myself to forget my friends.
"Joey?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Joey?"
Tears burst from my eyes uncontrollably, blurring my vision, and Joey threw his arms around me as I latched onto him. He didn't squeeze me hard, didn't give me a crushing Joey hug no matter how hard I clutched at him, and I wondered why. Maybe he was afraid he'd break me. I held him, felt his arms around me, smelled his cologne, and heard his voice. It was Joey, really Joey.
"Joey," I said again, unable to say anything else. I was just so happy, so grateful to see anyone I knew, to see a friend. I couldn't say anything but his name. "Joey, you're Joey, my friend Joey. Joey."
"Yeah, I'm Joey," he said, laughing, holding on to me. He reached past me to hit the nurse call button. "Jack, calm down. Don't get excited."
"Joey, I'm, how?" I sputtered, trying to speak. I felt overwhelmed. "You're here?"
I couldn't believe I'd become so inarticulate, but my tongue was tied. All I could do was cry, and hold onto Joey.
"Settle, Jack, settle," Joey said, gently pushing me back down onto the bed. He held my hand tightly, wiping at his eyes. I'd never seen Joey cry before, not ever. "Jack, we're here for you. We're all here, for you."
Tears were pouring down his face, but he was grinning.
"Josh?" I asked, reaching up. My necklace was still there. "Josh is here?"
"Yes, Josh is here," Joey answered.
"But I look like crap," I said, mentally smacking myself. How could those be the first words I managed to say?
Joey burst out laughing.
"Oh, yeah, you're gonna be ok," Joey said, grinning but still letting tears roll down his cheeks.
He pushed my hair back off of my forehead, and I realized that it had gotten very long. I'd been due for a haircut before any of this had happened, and I lifted a hand to my beard again. Nobody had shaved me. I realized that I had lost track of a lot of things.
"Joey, what day is it?" I asked.
"Jack, I'm not supposed to upset you," he answered, his eyes darting away. "They only let one of us in at a time, and I said I'd take this shift so the other guys could eat and stuff."
He thumbed the nurse switch again, and I figured that it was a good thing I wasn't dying, since she was taking so long.
"Joey, how long?" I asked, seeing him pale as he realized I had no idea. "How long have I been gone?"
"Jack," Joey sighed, holding my hand. He looked into my eyes, and flinched suddenly as I glared at him, silently demanding an answer. Joey looked away. "Two months, Jack. You've been gone for two months."
"Two months?" I asked, holding my hands out in front of me, seeing how thin and pale they were. I felt fresh tears flood my eyes, and Joey clutched me to him again as I sobbed. Two months? I thought maybe it was a couple weeks, a month at most, but two months?
The nurse came in, finally, picking up my chart and making a notation. She checked my pulse, and looked at all the little machines behind me.
"You're awake again," she said, smiling. "Do you know your name?"
"Jack Springer," I answered, as Joey sat back. "Again?"
"You were up before, but not coherent," Joey explained, as the nurse leaned in to shine a light at my eyes. I squinted and looked away.
"I see you've been a little agitated," she said, looking at one of the machines and looking at Joey.
"Sorry," he answered guiltily, as if he had something to do with it.
"How do you feel, Mr. Springer?" she asked, smiling at me.
"Tired," I answered. "And thirsty. Can I have a drink?"
"Of course," she answered. "Chocolate or vanilla?"
"Umm, chocolate?" I answered unsurely. Joey also looked confused. "What am I drinking, exactly?"
"Protein shake," she answered. "Doctor's orders. He'll be by in a bit."
She left to go find my shake, and I wondered if it would be as gross as it sounded. Clearly I needed to have a chat with the doctor. Joey stood as well, peering out the door.
"Lance! Lance, get in here!" he called down the hallway.
"Mr. Fatone!" I heard the nurse snapping. "I've asked you before to please be quiet, or you'll disturb the other patients. And remember, only one of you can be in there at a time."
"Sorry," Joey said, chastised. He stepped into the hallway, and suddenly Lance was rushing in.
"Oh, Jack, oh my God, we were so scared," he gushed, crying hard. I felt myself getting worked up all over again, and wondered if I would have to do this three more times. Lance stood by the bed, as if unsure of what to do, and I held out my arms. He threw himself against me, sobbing into my chest. Looking up, I saw Howie through the door window, wiping at his eyes. I waved at him over Lance's shoulder. "Jack, you're back. Oh, thank God."
"Lance, it's ok," I said, tears running down my cheeks again. "I'm here now, and I missed you guys so much. I missed you all."
"I'm sorry we weren't looking for you," Lance sobbed. "I'm sorry we didn't try to find you. I'm sorry we didn't try to help you. I'm so, so sorry, Jack."
"Lance, shhhh," I said, not really believing that I was already having to comfort one of the guys, and I hadn't even made it out of bed yet. What the hell had they done while I was gone? Then again, Lance was pretty dependent on me, so I guess this would hit him as hard as it did Josh. "Lance, it was a trick, it was all a trick. It's ok. You guys have nothing to be sorry for, and you're here now."
"We were so scared, Jack," Lance sobbed, sitting up, trying to get himself under control.
"Lance, where is everyone?" I asked, trying to distract him.
"Howie's in the hall, and Joey went to go get the guys," Lance answered, wiping at his eyes. "Justin and JC went downstairs to get something to eat, and Chris is down the hall in the chapel."
"Chris?" I blurted. "Is he lost?"
"No," Lance answered, smiling. "He's praying, I think. He's praying for you, because we didn't know if you were gonna wake up, or if you'd be ok when you did."
"Why?" I asked. I felt scared, suddenly, and heard the heart monitor behind me pick up a little. Lance looked at it, his eyes bulging. "Lance, what's wrong with me?"
"I'm not supposed to upset you," Lance began quietly. This was the same thing Joey had done. Why was everyone treating me with kid gloves?
"Lance, if I start screaming at you to give me a straight answer, I'm going to get pretty upset," I pointed out. "Just tell me what's wrong with me, before someone else comes in and interrupts."
"You almost died on the way here, Jack," Lance answered quietly. Tears began to roll down his cheeks again. "You've lost so much weight that it put a strain on your heart, and you had all these drugs floating around in your system. The doctor thinks that you fighting with, with that fucking, that, Basil, it was too much exertion. In the ambulance on the way here your heart started to flutter, and they were afraid it was going to stop. It happened again, too, right after you woke up."
"I don't remember waking up," I whispered, trying to put this together. "Lance, am I, am I dying?"
"No!" he answered quickly, holding my hand. "They said you'll get better, get stronger again. They just want to keep you here for a little while, until you do."
There was a knock at the door, and I looked up to see Chris. Lance squeezed my hand again.
"Hug Howie for me," I said, as he jumped up, wiping his eyes again.
Chris walked slowly over to the bed, staring down at me, grinning.
"Hey," he said, tilting his head to the side.
"Hey," I answered, smiling up at him.
He dropped down suddenly, scooping me up against him, and I hugged back just as tightly. He pulled back, and I saw that his eyes were watering, but he was holding it in.
"You don't smell like smoke," I observed, sniffing.
"I quit," he said, shrugging.
"Me, too," I said, grinning.
"I was gonna stay, and tell you we love you, and how much I missed you," Chris began, "but there's someone coming down the hall that really wants to see you, so welcome back, Jack."
"Thanks," I said, feeling butterflies in my stomach.
Chris stepped away, waving as he walked out the door, and then he was there, in the doorway, looking at me with his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, filled with wonder and joy. The light from the hallway shined down onto his hair, and his face, so tanned, was flushed and nervous. It was Josh, my Josh, the face I'd tried to imagine so many times, the man I loved, the man I lived for, and here he was, finally coming back for me. As soon as I saw him, I started crying all over again, and he did too, walking quickly toward the bed. He sat down on it, leaning toward me, but seemed unsure, like all of the others had. Later I would explain to them that I wasn't so fragile. Right now, though, I just wanted to see him.
"Jack?" he asked quietly, smiling at me even as tears rolled down his cheeks.
I brought my shaking hands up to his face, holding it, resting them on his cheekbones, feeling his jaw, and he brought his own hands, tanned, warm, firm, up to press them to him as he nuzzled against my palms. I was blinking furiously, trying to clear my eyes, trying to get the tears to stop coming, but I couldn't help it. Josh was here now, and I felt myself suddenly let go. Everything inside me broke, all the walls and anger I'd been holding up to keep Basil from getting to me. I grabbed Josh and pressed him to me, sobbing, and felt his warm hands slide up my back as I buried my face in his firm chest.
"Oh, God, Jack," he said quietly, and I could heard that he was crying, too, could feel his chest shaking beneath my face.
"I love you," I cried against him, sure that I was yelling, but hearing that it was just a whimper. "I love you. Every day I knew I'd see you again, knew that you'd still be here for me. I love you, Josh, more than anything. I love you."
"I love you, too," he whispered above me, holding me to him. "I love you, too, Jack."
The nurse came in with my shake, but I ignored her, not even noticing as she set it on the bedside table. She didn't matter, the rest of the guys didn't matter, none of it mattered. I had Josh in my arms again.
Josh had come for me after all.
To be continued.