| SIX |
| Joey, Lance, Justin and Chris stood silently at the elevator, each one lost in thoughts of Los Angeles, and getting the hell out of there. Security stood like stones next to them, checking their watches every few minutes, glad that they too would soon be home, and on vacation for a while. They'd put up with enough of the four singer's shit for a while, a long while, and needed a break. "Did anyone check on JC?" Lance asked, picking at the coffee stain on his tee shirt. Luckily it was not one of his favorites, just an old Gap one. "Hello?" His pale green eyes searched the others, who were so lost in their own worlds, it was scary. He kicked out at Joey, connecting with his foot. "Huh?" Joey looked at Lance blankly, his sunglasses over his eyes already. "Did -you -wake -up -J-C?-" Lance reapeated slowly. It never ceased to amaze him how Joey could get so wrapped up in himself. "No, I didn't," Joey replied, frowning. He didn't care for Lance's tone, not at all. "Did you?" he challenged. Lance threw his bag off his shoulder and made a face. Fuck them all, he wished he could just get a different flight altogether so he didn't have to see any of them. He turned on his heels and stormed down the hall to JC's door, using his fists to bang on it. "JC? Open up, dude. We gotta go." There was no answer, and Joey watched, hoping he didn't need to find his maid friend, who had finally left the floor, tears filling her pretty eyes. Guilt had formed, been brief, but it had been there. That was something at least, he thought, running his hands over his tired face. Justin wobbled against Chris, still woozy and disorientated. "Can we get him down to the car?" Chris asked one of the bodyguards, who nodded, hitting the button. "Joe, you coming?" Joey sighed and stared at Lance, who was now banging furiously on the door. "I'm going to give him a hand," he answered, tossing his bag down. "We'll be right there." He headed down toward Lance, who's face was red. There was a lot more behind his fists than trying to wake JC up. "Easy, man," he said, irritated. "Trying to wake him up or break down the fucking door?" "Who asked you, Fatone?" Lance seethed, glaring at him. "I sure didn't, so unless you want to call your little maid friend back, I suggest you shut up." Joey rolled his eyes at the melodrama. Lance had been taking acting lessons, and he would swear that this was another one of his exercises. It was that dramatic. "JC?" Joey called, pressing his ear to the door. There was no noise, not feet shuffling, or water running, or anything. "Christ, I gotta call that girl back," Joey groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. Lance pulled out his wallet, and slipped a credit card between the door. It snapped open, and Joey looked at him in surprise. "You mean to tell me any lunitic with a fucking credit card can get into our rooms?" His eyes widened at the thought of that. "Not if you put the lock on from the inside, which I know JC doesn't do." Lance pushed the door open, and peered in. The last thing he wanted to do was walk in on JC jerking off or something. "JC?" he called out soflty. The drapes were still closed, and it was quiet, too quiet. Lance's senses were on alert. Something was amiss. He stepped in cautiously, adjusting his eyes to the shadows of the darkness. "JC? Answer us." Joey pushed in, having no sixth sense at all. He snapped the light on with a grunt. "JC, get the fuck up!" No one was in the bed, causing him to growl. "Fuck this shit," he muttered, heading back out. "He's probably downstairs already." Lance's heart thumped, then skipped a beat when he saw JC's clothes still there. "He's not," he stammered, seeing the light creep out from under the bathroom door. Waving at Joey, he walked closer, his pulse racing, his mind swimming. JC was in there, he just knew it. "JC?" he called out, his deep voice cracking with nerves. Joey shook his head, tired of the acting lesson he was privvy to. "Just open the damn door, Lance," he huffed, leaning against the door frame, arms folded in front of him. Everything stopped, and Lance couldn't breathe. Something was so wrong. He kicked the door open a bit with his foot, and hoped, prayed he was being silly, just overreacting. But the red blood was real, and so much, and JC was there, laying on the floor, naked and pale and the scream that left his lips sounded oddly high, not at all like his. Joey's head snapped up when he heard the scream, and he bolted forward, stumbling into the small tiled bathroom, and into Lance. "Oh my fucking God!" he yelled, pushing Lance aside and kneeling down next to JC. He looked him over, fearful of touching him. His eyes scanned the lifeless body for signs of cuts, or something, but the blood was so red, and some of it was dried already. "Get help! Lance, God, go!" He reached behind him and shoved Lance. Lance's feet were frozen, and he couldn't move. He wanted to go get help, and he heard Joey order him to go, but his feet would not take him. He shivered uncontrollably, and he swayed, bile rising in his throat. "I'm gonna puke," he gasped, as the vomit spilled from him, splashing onto Joey's back. Joey jumped up, instinctively, in wide eyed fear. He saw that Lance was not coping, unable to do anything. "Lance, listen. I'm going for help. Stay here." He grabbed Lance's shoulders hard, shaking him, staring into glassy eyes filled with tears, and a face stained with small white spittal. "Lance, do you hear me?" Lance nodded, or he thought he did, and as Joey ran off, he sank to the cold, hard floor, gazing at JC. He drew his knees up to his chest and rocked. "JC, please be okay," he tried, staring into the face of one of his best friends. Even with the daily lectures, and constant arguing, JC was still one of them. He just wanted N Sync to be okay, that's all. He loved each of them like a brother. No, Lance thought, shaking his head. It was more than that. JC loved each of them like a part of him. It was more than they could understand, but he was just always there, always holding them together, never tiring of their antics, and while Lance knew that they pushed his patience, JC never strayed. If he was gone....NO! Lance pushed the idea out of his mind. He crept closer to the slumped figure and touched his cheek. It was still warm, giving him hope. He held his finger out under his nose, which dripped blood. From JC's mouth, foam oozed, and that's when Lance saw the baggie. His pale eyes grew even paler with confusion as he reached over and picked it up. The pot was gone, and only a few pills remained. "JC, no," he cried, realizing he must have taken the drugs. Justin had handed the stuff over in the limo, but why? Why would JC take it. Lance heard the panicked voices heading in, and hid the baggie behind his back, standing up. He bit his lip, tasting the tears that ran down into his mouth. Backing up, he let security in along with an EMT who was staying in the hotel as a guest. "Move back." the EMT shouted, falling over Lance to get in. Joey pulled Lance back and hugged him, forgoing his rule on men crying. He held Lance tight, letting the tears dampen his shirt. "It's okay," he offered, staring over Lance to the man working on JC. "He's alive," Lance sniffled, producing the baggie and showing it to Joey. "I found this. He fucking took it, I know he did." Joey snatched the baggie quickly, pulling on Lance's elbow and dragging him to the hallway. "Don't say that. JC wouldn't take this shit. There's no way." He was confused, and staring into Lance's forlorn face, so upset and freaked out, he couldn't make sense of it. JC was the straightest one, he never did more than drink, and that wasn't very often. Even his sexual escapades were boring. Joey scratched his head as he thought about it. JC would not take drugs, he just wouldn't. Still, the empty baggie burned hotly in his hand, and as he saw more EMT's get off the elevator, he pushed it into his pocket. JC hated bad publicity, and did his best to keep them all out of the media. Joey shook his head. JC was the only one who hadn't needed to be kept out of the media. He was always busy keeping them all clean. Lance leaned against the hallway wall, pressing his head against the wallpaper. He sobbed, thinking how badly they'd all let JC down. But he was breathing, he reminded himself. "Where's Chris?" he growled, suddenly, overcome with his own emotions. His temper flared, and he looked up at Joey, his eyes hardened. "Where is he?" Joey shrugged, wanting to see what was going on. "In the car? With Justin?" He didn't see Lance take off as he headed back in the room, staring in horror as the medics worked on JC, hooking him up to IV's, asking security questions. Joey stepped forward, intent on protecting JC. He owed him that. ********************************************************************************************* Lance ran down the steps, forgoing the elevator. In his haste, he jogged past the fans, who came forward at him. The bodyguard jumped to attention, not expecting Lance to be coming so fast. They knew better, all of them, than to head out without warning. He grumbled and grabbed for Lance, catching his collar. "Get me to the car," he said shortly. "Now!" He ignored the flash of cameras and fans screaming his name as the door was opened. He mashed his teeth together as Justin looked up, still sleepy. "What's the holdup?" Justin asked. Lance dove across Justin for Chris, capturing his neck in his hands. "Jesus Christ, Lance," Justin shouted, trying valiently to pry Lance' s hands off. "Let him go! For god's sakes, dude, let him go!" Justin grunted as he struggled to help Chris, who's own hands tugged at Lance's arms. He was taken back by the 21 year old's strength. "JC took your fucking drugs," he accused, tightening his grip, feeling all shreds of sanity leaving his body. He was running on pure adreneline, pure hate and anger. JC didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve to even have to deal with the likes of them, of any of them. "He's fucking dead, and you killed him." The words weren't true, but Lance said them in hate, in fury and confusion. He'd always held his temper, but not this time. He was so hurt,and the very idea of JC's bloodied body, so listless and lifeless, it drove him mad. Justin grew pale and began to shake. "You lie!" he hissed, finding the force he needed to break Lance's grip. "You fucking lie! Chris gasped, rubbing his neck, rolling his head back struggling to catch a breath. "What do you mean?" he stammered, his throat barely squeeking the words out. Lance made a fist and punched the window, a sick crack heard through the car as the window barely dented. The pain flashed inside his knuckles, and he ignored the feeling. The red lights from behind lit up the car, and Lance's face dropped. No way could they let JC be brought out of the hotel like this, it was too degrading. He shook his head, determined, and got out of the car again, causing the bodyguard to scramble after him. Justin dove out behind him, with Chris trailing. As they enetered the lobby, the elevator doors slid open, and the EMT's rolled JC out. "NO!" Lance called out. "Not this way. The back. There's fans out there." The medics stared hard at him, not at all fooled by their celebrity. They knew this kid was sick from drugs, even though it had been denied. They'd seen it a million times, the tell tale blood trickling from his nose, the white foam thick in his mouth. It was drugs, and they paused, glaring at Lance. "Fine," one said, icily. Security lead the charge under the parking deck, while the driver headed out to drive the car around. Justin collapsed seeing JC unresponsive and so lifeless. "Is he?" The EMT shook his head, frowning. "Not yet. We have to see what's in his system to determine his treatment. You know what he took?" Justin blinked. He'd known JC forever, and how many times did JC take care of him? How many? So fucking many he lost count. Was a few moments bad publicity worth his life? "I'm not sure. I know he had some. They weren't his..." "Shut the fuck up," Lance warned, clapping his hand over Jusitn's mouth. His eyes shot daggars from them, and he pushed Justin away. The EMT didn't have time to argue, and headed out with JC. Joey clutched the baggie inside his pocket. Maybe Justin was right. Maybe he should hand the baggie over. Hell, JC was their leader. Without him, they were all lost. Justin elbowed Lance, and scurried out of his reach. "He's going to die, Lance. Fuck the media. Don't you get it? He will die. They need to know." His voice was firm, shaky, but insistant. His curls bounced uncerimoniously over his face and he glared. "It's not worth it. Who has the baggie?" Joey looked at Lance, who nodded, then pulled it out, handing it to Justin. "Here." Chris bit his lip. He didn't even know what the hell the pills were, or how many there had been. And why, why did JC take them? That was the burning question. It made no sense to him. Justin tugged on his shirt. "You have to come with me," he pleaded, his big blue eyes even bigger with the fright that danced in them. "You have to come clean and tell them anything you know." Chris was scared, more afraid than he'd ever been. His mind swirled and he tried to recall where he'd gotten them, or from whom. The pot was off the street, he couldn't help there. But the pills. He'd gotten them from various people at the awards show, managers and promoters who were all too happy to shove coke at him, along with the colorful pills. He'd been so fucked up from the coke, he didn't realize how many of the pills he'd gathered. He lowered his head and followed Justin to the ambulance, praying that JC would survive. The small tingle he still felt around his neck from Lance's wrath was nothing compared to the consequences of living with JC's death on his hands. "Hurry up," Justin yelled, and he did. |