Date: Fri, 09 Jun 2000 17:59:32 GMT
From: Diana Martin <callista_martin@hotmail.com>
Subject: Kidnapped part 5

Kidnapped 5

By Diana

Author's Notes: Hey, everybody! Sorry it took me so long to submit this, but
for some reason I was unable to attach chapters 5 and 6 together. So we'll
just have to do this one piece at a time: In exactly one week, I'll submit
Chapter 6. Besides, it's no fun if I don't keep you hanging a little bit. ;)
Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all my readers and
Webmaster David. I've posted in fandoms before, but I've never enjoyed one
more. You guys are the best! :) I also want to pay homage to some terrific
stories on this site: Qui-Gon Kenobi's "West Side of Westlife" (it's about
time someone wrote a fic about the hottest, albeit most boring boy band in
Europe!), AJ Shukla's "Josh and Just", Jamie Mitchell's "Justin's Journal",
Stacia Marie's "A Love Like This" (You go, girl!) and Rick's "This I Promise
You" (*whine* Rick! More!). Kudos to you all! ;)


"Timberlake, Timberlake..." the fat, unattractive man groused, sifting through
a stack of papers on his messy, disorganized desk. "Yeah, here it is. This
morning, out on the freeway?"

"That's him." Detective Andrews said plainly.

"Hmm... Hey, Johnny!" the fat man shouted, craning his head up.

After a few seconds, a man in his late thirties emerged on a catwalk above
them. "Yeah, boss?" he replied.

"Who took the Timberlake pickup this morning?"

Johnny scratched his greasy hair for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "I think
it was Jackson!"

The fat man swore under his breath. "Great. Fucking twit probably got lost."

"Who's Jackson?" Detective Collins inquired, brow furrowing slightly.

The fat man shrugged. "Matt Jackson. New guy, barely qualified. But these
days, we need all the men we can get. He's kinda weird, keeps to himself a
lot."

The two detectives exchanged glances. "Where can we find him?" Andrews
pressed, but the manager simply shrugged again.

"Didn't show up for work today. And he didn't call in sick either, so either
he skipped town or he's just not going to show up for a while. It's gonna come
outta his salary; we don't do things by the book here, but I expect my guys to
at least play by MY rules."

"Do you have a picture of him?" Collins asked.

The fat man nodded, heading to the back of his office and opening a small file
cabinet. "I take pictures of all my new employees and send 'em to the FBI.
Better safe than sorry, I say. Putting perps on the payroll is bad for
business." The manager searched for a few seconds, then pulled out a small
file folder and tossed it at Andrews, who caught it easily. Opening it, the
detective removed a small photograph and looked at it for a few seconds before
handing it to Collins.

Collins, in turn, passed the photo on to the two men accompanying them, Joey
Fatone and Chris Kirkpatrick. "You know this guy?" Collins asked.

Chris took the picture and looked at it. His face paled and he gasped in
surprise. "Joey..." he whispered, showing the picture to his friend. Joey's
jaw dropped as he recognized the man in the photograph.

"No way..." the red-haired teen muttered, taking another look just to be sure.
But it was undeniable. The name might be different, but the face was the same,
burned forever into the memories of all five N'Sync members.

"You know him?" Collins asked, noting the shocked expressions on their faces.

"Too well." Joey said quietly. "WAY too well..."

*   *   *

"Jack Matthews." JC growled through clenched teeth. He looked like he was
about to explode into a tantrum, but somehow managed to choke the urge down.

"The police have an APB out on him." Chris said, doing his best to reassure
his bandmate. "We'll get him."

"I'm gonna KILL that fucker." Joey spat angrily. He looked just as enraged, if
not more, as JC.

Chris managed to control his temper enough to think clearly. "We need to find
him first. The guy at the tow truck company said Jack got the job a week
before we came here. He lives in LA."

JC narrowed his eyes. "But how did he find Justin?"

Chris shrugged. "Coincidence? I mean, he was here before us, and there's no
way he could know where we're staying. Besides, who knew Justin would go out
for a drive and call a tow truck?"

"I don't believe in coincidences that big." Joey shook his head. "Something
else is going on." He paused and looked around. "Where the hell is Lance?"

JC shifted uncomfortably; as if he didn't have enough to deal with. In
retrospect, he hadn't handled the situation with Lance very well. He probably
could have been a LITTLE more sensitive to the boy's feelings...

The teen looked at his two bandmates. He loved and trusted them, but this was
between him and Lance. He didn't have the right to bring them into it. "We had
a fight." JC quickly explained. "He probably went somewhere to cool off."

Chris looked at JC for a long moment, knowing that he wasn't telling them
everything. But he was too exhausted from running around down with the LAPD
detectives to think about it. After a yawn nearly split his head in two, Chris
rubbed his eyes slightly. "I'm gonna crash for a few hours."

"Me too." Joey exclaimed, his anger dissipating under the force of his
fatigue. "You're staying up?"

JC nodded. He had too much thinking to do to get any real sleep.

"Wake us up if there's any news." Chris instructed before leaving. Joey
followed, giving JC a sympathetic glance as he walked out the door.

Alone, JC finally buried his face in his hands, despair coming to the
forefront. He felt like he was slowly being choked to death, one thing after
another crammed down his throat. First Justin, then that... that THING with
Lance, and now Jack Matthews was back in their lives, after so long... It was
almost too much to deal with.

There was a sudden tapping on the door. At first he ignored it, but the light
taps were replaced with strong, sturdy knocks.

"All right, all right..." JC grumbled, getting to his feet and heading for the
door. "WHAT?!" he snarled as he yanked it open.

Startled by her friend's vehemence, Christina Aguilera jumped back, blue eyes
wide in surprise.

JC's angry glare quickly dissipated. "Christina..." he breathed, grabbing her
and pulling her into a fierce hug. Since this day from Hell had begun, JC had
tried to be strong. He couldn't look weak in front of his bandmates... Chris
would analyze him, Joey would try to make light of the situation, and Lance...
who knew what Lance would do.

But Christina had always been JC's close friend and confidante, and he knew
she would let him fall apart and not think any less of him. And now, wrapped
in the warmth of his embrace, he started to cry.

"Joey called us." Christina whispered gently, stroking the back of his head
with her soft touch. "We came as soon as we heard." She broke away for a
moment, and was quickly replaced by Britney Spears.

"I'm so sorry..." Britney managed to say as tears streamed down her face. "I
can't believe this is really happening..."

JC released Britney and wiped his eyes. "It's worse than you think." he said
as he stepped aside, allowing the girls to enter his room. "A lot worse."

*   *   *

As the hour grew later, and the night darker, Jack Matthews set to work. He
had only one goal on his mind: To win his ex-boyfriend back. Jack glanced at
the clock, out of habit and nothing else; As far as he was concerned, time had
stopped the day Justin walked out of his life. Jack had lain awake in bed for
hours, wanting so much to sleep but being denied that peace. Hours had become
days, days had become weeks, and finally Jack had understood that until a
certain blonde was nestled safely in his arms, he would never sleep again.

He had accepted that fate willingly, knowing he deserved much worse. He had
committed terrible crimes, had violated and betrayed the man he loved, and he
would never forgive himself for that. Those memories would torment Jack for
the rest of his life, waiting to pounce on him whenever he closed his eyes.

But he had changed, he KNEW he had changed... all the anger and jealousy Jack
had harbored was gone. Jack needed to show that to Justin, and help him
understand that things could be different, BETTER.

Only that would never happen, not as long as Justin was with that... that
snot-nosed brat, JC Chasez. It was all Chasez's fault... somehow he had turned
Justin against Jack, had brainwashed his impressionable friend.

But that was okay. Jack would have his revenge. He would undo JC's
manipulations and open Justin's eyes again. And they, Jack and Justin, would
live happily ever after.

"Let's get started." Jack whispered to the mass of technology that lay before
him. VCRs, CD players, cassette players, scanners and a large printer, among
other, unrecognizable gadgets. Above his head, three TV sets hovered, each
spawning a web of wires and cables.

The video editing room of the Los Angeles Municipal Library. Not exactly the
ideal place, but it was adequate and obscure enough to suit his needs. Lance
had made a reservation in "Matt Jackson's" name, and had scrawled the address
on the piece of paper that came with the tape. There hadn't been time for the
N'Syncer to go into details, but for whatever reason, Lance needed someone to
edit his recordings. And the only one he trusted was his partner in crime.

_You'd love that, wouldn't you? Justin conveniently disappears, and his
heartbroken little husband runs right into your waiting arms._

Jack couldn't help smiling as he remembered the teen's shocked expression.
When Lance Bass first approached him, desperately seeking a way to destroy his
bandmates' relationship, Jack had mistaken the teen for a homophobe. A bigot
whose prejudice wouldn't let him understand how two men could truly love each
other.

But as they worked together, Jack began to notice how Lance only seemed to
despise Justin, not JC. The blonde's hard green eyes would always soften just
a bit at the mention of JC's name, and the corners of his mouth would perk up
JUST a bit, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

Lance Bass was in love with Joshua Chasez. It was so simple, and so horribly
complex at the same time. Jack had only been apart from Justin for a few
months, and memories had kept him company. But how in God's name had Lance
survived all those years, so close yet so far away from JC? It must have been
torture. It must have been UNBEARABLE, if Lance was willing to send his
bandmate to Hell for a shot at his husband.

And now they were in this together, their fates bound by the common curse they
shared; that they were both denied the one thing they lived for. Namely,
Jack's love for Justin and Lance's love for JC.

Jack picked up Lance's tape and examined it. This "backup plan" had been the
blonde's idea, and he had refused to share the specifics, only reassuring that
if all else failed, this would surely split Justin and JC apart.

His curiosity overtook him, and Jack popped the cassette into a VCR. After
rewinding it, he pressed the play button, turned on one of the TV screens and
sat back.

For a few seconds, there was only snow. Then Lance's face came into focus,
studying the camera lens closely. From the tiled walls behind him, Jack
guessed his accomplice was in the hotel bathroom. The view shifted wildly, and
suddenly Jack saw only an expanse of white ceiling: Lance was holding the
camera behind his back as he walked. In the background, Jack could hear
laughter and the sound of drinks being poured at a rapid pace.

The ceiling started to slide by horizontally as Lance moved across the far
wall. He paused for a moment, turned the camera slightly and slid it into an
alcove Jack couldn't identify. But it didn't matter; the camera was perfectly
positioned, with an unobstructed view of the bed. That idiot Joey Fatone was
bouncing up and down on the mattress, with a glass of clear alcohol in one
hand.

Jack pressed the fast-forward button, sitting back and watching the brats
celebrate their fleeting fame. Fools, all of them. In the long run, their
success was meaningless. Life and time would take away their youth, their
looks, and what would they be left with? Nothing.

But Justin would be spared that fate. He would have Jack, and they would be
together forever...

Something caught Jack's eye, and he stabbed the play button. But the sight
presented to him was so hideous that he had to look away, hissing in disgust.

Justin Timberlake-Chasez was on his knees, naked, the covers wrapped around
his legs and waist, face twisted in ecstasy. And behind him, chest pressed
tightly against Justin's back, was Joshua Chasez, also undressed. They were
having sex; Justin rocked back and forth against JC, panting with every
motion, and JC's arms were wrapped tightly around the blonde's slim torso.
Jack felt his nails dig into his palm and draw blood as JC kissed Justin's
neck, prompting a gasp of glee from his lover.

And suddenly, in an eyeblink, they were gone. Now JC was standing in front of
the bed, dripping wet. Something moved in front of the camera, and Jack
swallowed as a ravenous-looking Lance approached his bandmate. To his
surprise, Jack felt his cock harden; Lance was extremely fuckable, he couldn't
deny that. The kid could ooze sex appeal when he wanted to.

Apparently not enough, though. To Jack's surprise, JC stormed out of the room,
leaving a half-nude Lance behind. The blonde looked absolutely stunned, like
he couldn't believe JC had actually turned him down.

There wasn't much time to brood on Lance's failure. The picture abruptly
switched again, this time to a far more confusing sight. Lance was kneeling on
the mattress, a sheet wrapped around his waist as he thrust back and forth,
eyes shut, skin glistening with sweat, looking like he was on the verge of a
soul-shattering orgasm.

But there was no one else there.

For a few moments, Jack scratched his head, thoroughly mystified. And suddenly
it hit him like a cannonball, and he couldn't help the look of dumbfounded awe
that rose on his face.

"Oh... my... GOD..." Jack breathed. "You fucking GENIUS!"

With trembling fingers, Jack rewound the tape to the footage of Justin and JC.
Freezing the picture, Jack turned on a second TV and pressed a few buttons on
the keyboard in front of him. A duplicate of the frame appeared on the new
screen.

Returning his attention to the first monitor, Jack fast-forwarded to Lance's
phantom lovemaking and paused again. He sat back for a moment, comparing the
two images, and he smiled.

He wasn't really good with computers, never had been. But he'd taken some
Video Editing in high school with Molly... Most of those memories were foggy
at best, but there were some things Jack could still recall clearly. This was
one of them.

Carefully outlining Lance's body on the first frame, Jack scanned it and
pressed the COPY button on the keyboard. Turning back to the screen portraying
JC and Justin, Jack zoomed in on Justin. Sweat trickled down his brow as he
meticulously encased Justin in a white outline, making sure to work around
JC's arms.

When his work was complete, Jack smirked coldly, reclined in his chair and
pushed the PASTE button.

The transformation was instantaneous and exhilirating. Justin blinked out of
existence, and an instant later was replaced by Lance. Jack was jolted by how
flawless it looked: Lance was arched just right against JC, and his arms,
thrown up in the air, now seemed to encircle JC's neck. And JC himself was
holding "Lance" as closely as he did Justin.

Perfect. This was exactly what Jack needed, the proof he would use to show
Justin exactly what kind of man he had married. Justin would leave JC, and
Lance could have that vapid whore, Jack wouldn't care anymore. Once Justin was
back where he belonged, nothing else would matter.

Barely able to keep from giggling, Jack pushed the print button. As the large
printer in the back started to whir, he removed the video cassette, cracked
the casing open and tore out the tape, depositing the mess in a wastebasket.
He then snatched the sheet of paper out of the printer, shut off the TV
screens and confidently strode out the door.

*   *   *

"This isn't working out very well." Detective Andrews sighed. "We've got a
suspect, but we don't know where he is or how to find him. He doesn't have a
record, we can't find any family or friends... we've got no leads." He tossed
his notepad on the floor of the car.

"Just because we can't crack a case in 24 hours, doesn't mean we can't crack
it." Collins countered. "This guy's sloppy. He left all the evidence we needed
to ID him: the car, the cellphone, the employment records... he'll slip up
again, and we'll be there to get him."

Andrews stared out the windshield, not focusing on anything in particular.
There was something wrong with this case, he could feel it... something that
had slipped past them, some major detail that held all the answers.

"Holy Mother of God..." Collins suddenly whispered, shocking Andrews out of
his reverie. "Look!"

Following his partner's pointed finger, Andrews felt ice water rush through
his veins.

Not twenty feet away from them, slithering out of the LA Municipal Library
like a snake, was Jack Matthews. After taking a suspicious look around, he
started to walk.

"Should we get him?" Collins asked, breathless with anticipation. But Andrews
shook his head.

"Not yet. I want to know what he's up to. You follow him, I'm going to check
the library out."

The two got out of the car, and Collins started jogging at a brisk pace after
their quarry. Andrews walked towards the library and took the steps three at a
time.

Once in the lobby, he walked towards the front desk, noticing that the place
was relatively empty save for a few stressed-out grad students working on term
papers. Which meant the librarian would be more likely to remember recent
visitors.

"Hello?" Andrews called.

A middle-aged black woman with greying hair stepped out of a back room,
smiling at him. "Can I help you?"

Andrews pulled out his badge and showed it to her. "Detective Robert Andrews,
LAPD."

The librarian narrowed her eyes. "Is there something wrong?"

The detective shook his head. "Not exactly. There was a man here, he just
left. Tall, black hair, bad attitude?"

The woman, whose nametag read TERRI, frowned. "Oh yeah, I remember him. What's
his deal?"

"I just need to know what he was doing here." Andrews explained.

She shrugged. "He came in sayin' he needed to use the editing room. Sat there
for 'bout half an hour, then he took off. I kept an eye on him, he looked
kinda freaky to me, but he stayed in there the whole time. Probably makin'
porno tapes or something, you'd be surprised how many sickoes come in here
these days."

"Can you show me the editing room?"

Terri pointed to a room in between two shelves of books. "Just go in there,
you'll find it."

Andrews followed her directions and entered the cramped room. He examined the
equipment, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Leaning in
slightly, Andrews turned on one of the TV sets, and his eyes immediately
widened at the picture that appeared before him.

"Shit..." he breathed, examining the image closely. This was an editing room,
it could easily be a fake. But a brief check revealed that there were no
videotapes in the machine, no photos in the scanner. In short, no way to forge
such an image.

And it explained so much... The pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into
place. Jack wasn't working alone. Someone had been helping him all along,
helping him stay ahead of the cops and everyone else. Someone had gotten rid
of Justin so he could be with someone else.

And that someone was Joshua Chasez.

Andrews printed out a copy of the picture, then quickly deleted it once and
for all. Would that he could get rid of the problem so easily.

Collins burst into the room at that time, panting for breath. "I lost him." he
said, voice thick with disappointment.

"Don't sweat it." Andrews said, folding the picture and putting it in his
pocket. "We just got ourselves a new lead. One that'll lead us straight to
Jack Matthews."

*   *   *

Lance checked his watch again, tapping his foot nervously. His mind kept
wandering back to that afternoon, and his debacle with JC. As crazy as it
sounded, Lance had never even considered that JC would reject him. Just
thinking about how angry JC had been made tears rise to the blonde's eyes.

And then there was Justin. Had he REALLY lied about being abused? In the
beginning, Lance had been sure he had, but now he wasn't sure. Had he done the
right thing, delivering Justin to someone who clearly wasn't the cover guy for
"Sanity Fair"?

On one hand, if Justin left JC to be with Jack, Lance would have the chance he
so desperately needed. But on the other hand, Lance had betrayed a friend. Two
friends, including JC. Instead of letting Justin and JC's marriage
disintegrate on its own (as it surely would have), Lance had fueled the fire
in the worst ways. As hard as he tried to justify it, or convince himself that
Justin deserved it, the bottom line was whatever damage Justin came out of
this with would be entirely Lance's fault.

"You ready?" Jack asked huskily, right in Lance's ear. The blonde jumped,
causing Jack to smile coldly.

"You scared me!" Lance hissed angrily. Without replying, Jack pulled a sheet
of paper out of his shirt pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Lance. The teen
looked at it and his eyes widened.

"Jesus Christ..." he whispered in awe. "You did it. You really did it." He
wasn't really surprised, as this had been his idea all along, but to SEE it
was something else altogether. To see how JC held him, so close and
lovingly...

Lance's face fell. JC wasn't holding HIM, he was holding JUSTIN. This was an
illusion, a fake.

But it COULD be real, it could be... if Justin Timberlake wasn't here. And
that would only happen if Lance went through with this, all the way.

His fingers traced JC's form lovingly. He could do this. For JC, for the man
he loved, he would do anything. He wouldn't let Justin stop him from having
the life he deserved, a life with JC.

Lance wiped his tears away forcefully. He would not be weak.

"Let's go." he grinned hollowly, empty malice flashing in his bright eyes.

Jack gestured to the warehouse door. "Pop stars first."

Without a moment's hesitation, Lance opened it and walked in.

To be continued...