Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2000 10:21:12 -0500
From: Kimmer <justme@astound.net>
Subject: Playing For Keeps #2 {Kimmer} {MM Celebrity Boy-Band} [2!?]

Hello, one and all!  I've been a reader for a quite some time now, however
this is the first story I've written for Nifty.  There are a lot of truly
great writers on this site, I only hope I can live up to the high standards
they've put forth.  Ok, now I have a little warning to get out of the way:
Yep, it's still dark.  But remember, it's important to the plot, but it is
not the sole plot!  Not even close!  So consider it like a prologue, and
bare with me, I promise it gets a lot more intriguing as we go on. Remember
things aren't always what they seem! **WINK**

Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction.  It implies nothing
about the sexual orientation, beliefs, thoughts or actions of the real
members of NSync.  While it is not a "pure sex" story, if you are under 18
or offended by male/male relationships, please go away.

A quick personal note to a GREAT friend of mine and a very talented writer:
HA HA Evan!  I beat ya!

By the way, if you haven't checked out the story Justin's Dark Angel, I
HIGHLY recommend it.  It's a very suspenseful story with a unique
plot. It's incredible. Check it out! You won't be disappointed!

Thanks for all the positive feedback!  I was overwhelmed and undeserving,
Thank You!

Anyway, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think.
Send it to Justme@astound.net.  Now on with the story!




Playing for Keeps

Chapter 2

Justin's eyes popped opened suddenly and instinctively glanced at the
glowing neon numbers alongside his bed. Burying his head deep inside the
pillow he found clutched in his arms, he let out a muffled groan.
Officially morning began hours ago, but by the sheer darkness in the room,
sunrise was still a good hour away.  Had he even fallen back to sleep yet?
The first time he looked, it was a little after midnight.  He blamed the
heat, kicked off the covers and went over the new dance moves they'd been
working on in his head.

Then around two thirty, he'd awoke in a wave of nausea and dark,
image-shifting dreams.  He'd spent a moment in the bathroom splashing cold
water on his face, breathing deeply and swallowing hard.  The dreams were
distorted, murky and fading quickly. He was glad. Some things are best not
remembered.  He wondered if the dreams caused his upset stomach.  He hoped
it was the double pepperoni pizza he'd shared with Joey for dinner.  Either
way, two Rolaids and a glass of water later, he crawled back into bed. This
time, even with the heat, he wanted to be covered up.  Hidden.

Now, though the time on the clock indicated he must have dozed off, his
body said differently.  He was sure only minutes had passed.  **I wish I
could remember sleeping.  I bet it felt good.** Laying there, wide awake
and motionless, his eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness.  Listening to JC
snore softly from the bed across the room, he accepted the fact that sleep
would no longer come.  Officially he was awake.

Swinging both legs over the side of the bed, Justin quietly sat up. Placing
the pillow across his lap, he ran his hands over his face, triggering a
yawn of gigantic proportion.  Maybe if he took a shower, it would be
easier.  **Easier to what? Wake up? Face the day? Face himself?** He wasn't
sure he liked that question. He knew he wouldn't like the answer.  Lifting
himself off the bed, he moved easily through the dark and into the bathroom
attached to his and JC's room.  That was probably the only benefit to
sharing a room; they got the one with the private bath.

Justin shut himself in the bathroom before turning on the light.  JC was a
heavy sleeper, but he wanted to be extra careful not to wake him.  Grabbing
the towel hanging on the hook beside the tub, he quickly threw it over the
shower door.  The move itself appeared casual enough, but to Justin it was
a ritual.  Turn on the light and toss the towel over the narrow mirror on
the shower door.  Long ago he discovered how well the beach towels
worked. They were just large enough to cover the entire mirror.  He became
so good at doing it, he almost forgot the reason behind it himself.  With
the mirror covered, he got undressed.

Climbing into the shower, he turned on the water.

"Ahhhh!"  He gasped as the initial stream of cold water shocked his
skin. Eyes wide, he cursed himself.  **Why don't I turn the water on BEFORE
getting in?** Holding his hands out in front of him, he blocked the
onslaught of water, until it began to run warm.  Then hot.  Turning his
back to the falling water, his muscles relaxed involuntarily, absorbing the
heat. With his eyes closed, he stood there motionless, hands at his sides.
The pulsating water massaged the back of his neck. Then pooling into a
stream, it flowed along the smooth crevasse of his spine, finally caressing
his buttocks as it slipped into obscurity down the drain. It was the heat
against his buttocks that brought the uninvited memory back into his
head. Something he swore he'd forgotten.

**Standing in Gabe's shower.  Pain.  Extreme pain; as if his body ripped in
half.  Tears and blood…so much blood.**

Justin snapped his eyes open, forcing the images from his head.  He grabbed
at the soap, clutching it firmly within his hands. Looking at the green and
white striped object, he shook his head. **What a waste.** No matter how
many times he stood here, no matter how hard he scrubbed, he'd never get
clean.  But for now, it was the closed thing to a savior he could find.
Building up a sizeable lather to use as a buffer; he could hardly stand to
touch his own skin; he worked the bubbles over each body part.  He wasn't
trying to be gentle. His strokes were forceful, determined, vigorous.
Almost punishing.

****

JC rolled over in his bed.  Although he couldn't identify it, something
woke him up.  A noise.  Like someone yelled?  As the fuzziness in his head
cleared, he heard the distinct sound of rain.  No…wait. He rubbed his
eyes and struggled to push himself up onto one arm.  With each hard blink,
the room cleared some, finally coming to a dim focus.  No, it wasn't rain,
it was the shower running.  Sure enough, JC could see a narrow column of
light shining from under the bathroom door.  Glancing at Justin's bed, he
found it empty.

**What the hell? Again?**

Exhausted, JC's head fell backward, collapsing onto his pillow.
Concentrating as hard as the early hour would allow, he tried to remember.
Didn't Justin take a shower right before going to bed?  And if he
remembered right, wasn't Justin's head wet when they left for lunch
yesterday.  Yeah…he'd watched Justin wiping away small beads of water as
they dripping down his temple.  At first, JC thought he was just sweating,
but then he noticed the tiny wet ringlets of hair. For most people, it
wouldn't even be note worthy. But for Justin it was truly out of
character. In all the years he'd known him, Justin always showered at
night.
   
Three showers in less than twenty-four hours. **Damn that boy needs a
hobby**

It was with that thought still reverberating in his head that JC succumbed
to sleep once again.

****

Stepping out of the shower fifteen minutes later, Justin wrapped a towel
low around his waist.  With a single finger, he hesitantly pushed aside a
corner of the beach towel still slumped across the mirror.  Working in a
circular motion, he cleared away a small patch of fog with his fingertips.
His skin was red and tender; a byproduct of the heat and intense scouring.
At least that would fade by the time he got dressed.  It was the one inch
mark on his hip where the desk dug into him, and the five bruises under his
right upper arm that would linger.  A lasting imprint of Gabe's grip, a
testament to his anger, a hateful souvenir.  Holding his arm above his
head, Justin examined each tender discoloration.  Two days and still dark
purple. By the end of the week they would fade to a light yellow-green and
finally disappear altogether.  The predictable course of healing.  He
scoffed aloud at the thought.

**Nothing in my life is predictable anymore.  Certainly not healing.**

At least these are easy to hide.  Even for Orlando, the weather was
abnormally hot. Still, it was early February so no one would question him
wearing a light weight, long sleeved shirt.  The marks were up high enough
under his arm to be covered by a t-shirt, but they had a dance rehearsal
later today and with all that jumping around, it was better to be extra
cautious.

Quietly returning to his room, Justin scavenged for something to wear.  The
earliest glints of morning sun could be seen pushing their way through the
blinds.  He tried to move as quickly as possible without waking
JC. Although he was fairly certain that even if JC stirred, from his
vantage point there was no way he'd see the vile marks scarring his body.
He grabbed the first thing he could find, and slipped it on.  Nylon running
pants and a long sleeved jersey.  Then grabbing a pair of socks, he slipped
out of his room barefoot.  As the door clicked shut behind him, he heard JC
flip over and mumble something about getting a hobby.  Justin shook his
head, giggling to himself.

Sitting down on the top step to put on his socks, he had a perfect view of
the kitchen below.  Except for the small bouquet of left over balloons tied
to a kitchen stool and a stack of birthday cards lying on the counter, all
signs of his party were gone.  He'd spent most of yesterday afternoon
helping his mom clean up the mess.  The kitchen and backyard took the most
time, but all the guys pitched in. Well, all except Lance.

Justin lifted each foot slowly, anticipating the same tenderness in his
hips and back that plagued him yesterday. But he was surprised by the
relative ease in which his joints now moved.  **Maybe dancing today won't
be so bad ?** With that, a single hateful thought jumped into his head.
**Thank god Lance gets the worst of it.** It popped in there without
warning and immediately he was overcome with guilt.  He was truly ashamed
of himself.  More than anything , he wished he could take it back.

**Oh, God that's not what I meant.  Lance.  Poor Lance.  I'm sorry... I
didn't mean it. Really. **

Images of the way Lance looked in the car two days ago ran through his
mind. His stomach turned painfully at the thought of it.

He'd left Gabe's office in a flurry of hate.  Pure hatred.  But mostly it
was aimed at himself.  He hated his fear. He hated his weakness.  He hated
feeling ashamed. He hated having to go home and smile through the rest of
this horrible day. And he hated that he let it happen again. He was to
blame.

Standing silent in the empty hall, Justin's emotions rushed to the surface.
With each step toward the outside, toward freedom, he felt that door inside
his head open up.  He'd locked a part of himself inside it for protection,
for safety, but it never lasted very long.  Eventually, that door opened
up, almost against his will and he had to come out.  He had to feel for
real.  Sometimes it was almost unbearable.

Stepping out into the sunlight, Justin blinked back the tears that
threatened to fall.  He had to be careful, stray fans could be anywhere,
and he was not about to let them see him like this.  Remembering the extra
pair of sunglasses he kept inside the front pocket of his pullover jacket,
he quickly put them on.  Then he looked across the street at his car.

Lance was nowhere in site.  Strange.  Gabe always let him leave first.

Thinking the dark sunglasses may be blocking his view, he lowered them
slightly and peered over the top as he continued walking toward the
vehicle.  Still no Lance.  Justin stopped.  His heart pounding.  **He can't
still be inside, can he?  No. It was finished. Gabe was at his desk.**
Confused, Justin spun around slowly, his eyes locking on the front door.
There was no way he could go back in there, even if his feet would
move. What was he supposed to do, knock on Gabe's door and ask for Lance?
Yeah, right.  Not going to happen.

**Shit. Now what?**

Looking at the car, then back toward the office, Justin debated his
options.  Maybe he'd just wait in the car for a few minutes…Lance
couldn't be that far behind him, could he?

Digging for the keys buried deep in his pocket, he headed for the car.
Crossing the street, he moved toward the driver's side door. It would be
unlocked, he knew that, he always left it unlocked.  Reaching for the
handle, Justin again looked over the top of the car at the office door.
Still no Lance.  Resigning to the fact that he'd have to wait, Justin
opened his door.

Immediately the sour smell of bile and stomach acid assaulted his senses.
And that's when he saw him.  Lance was lying on his side across the back
seat. He was facing the rear of the car, completely motionless, eyes open
but staring blankly into space. If he was aware of Justin's presence, he
didn't acknowledge it.  He was wearing the sweatshirt he'd worn earlier,
but the t- shirt he had on underneath it was now bunched up in his right
hand.

As his initial shock changed to panic, Justin rushed into the car and
leaned over the front seat.  "Lance?"

Silence.  Lance didn't move, but Justin saw his jaw tighten. That small
motion worked to ease Justin's worst fears.

"Lance, are you okay?"

Again silence.

"Come on Lance, please say something… Your scaring me."  The sour vomit
smell was starting to overwhelm him and he fought hard not to gag.

"I want to go."  Lance's deep voice trembled, and for the first time Justin
noticed he was crying.  "I want to go home."

He watched stunned; not knowing what to do.  Lance rarely cried.

Justin reached out to comfort him, but pulled back tentatively, seeing
Lance flinch at the motion, "Oh god, he hurt you again, didn't he?"
 
Lance said nothing, but he closed his eyes forcing out a small flood of
tears.  Inhaling deeply, he fought to compose himself.  Except for the
occasional sniffle, and a few deep breaths, the car was completely silent.
Justin leaned his forehead against the seat in front of him and dug his
hands into the upholstery; waiting. Waiting for a response he knew would
never come.  It was a silent pact between them. They never officially
discussed it, but both boys understood the rule: Don't talk about the
details, not even to each other. Saying it out loud gave it permanency;
made it too real.

As-a-matter-of-fact it was only by sheer accident that Justin discovered
how differently Gabe treated Lance.  He'd mistakenly walked in on him
changing after a concert.  Lance tried to cover himself, but not before
he'd seen the large red welts across the back of his thighs. It was
something Justin would never forget. Before he could even confront him
about it, Lance simply looked away and said, "Sometimes Gabe gets mad."
Then he threw on a shirt and walked out of the room, leaving Justin
standing there dumbfounded.  He'd experienced Gabe's temper himself but
never anything like that.  Later when they were alone he tried to talk to
Lance about it, but he quickly got cut off.  "Just leave it alone, Justin,
please.  I can handle it." His voice was firm, but his expression softened
at the worried look on Justin's face.  Sighing, he reluctantly tried to
consol his younger band mate. "It doesn't happen all the time, J.  If I
just…well, I try not to make him mad, that's all. Now can we drop it,
please."  And that's what Justin did, he dropped it. But he kept a watchful
eye on Lance. He knew what to look for and unfortunately he also knew
when. He'd seen the tenderness in Lance's movements as he tried to baby one
body part or another; watched him cringe when he thought no one was
looking; and bite his lip when he was forced to act normal around the rest
of the guys.  And it happened more often than Lance let on.  Of that Justin
was certain.

Feeling the car rock slightly, Justin pick his head up and watched in agony
as his friend struggled to sit up.

Lance rolled from his side to his stomach, then up onto his knees.  His
movements were labored, slow and painful.  Justin could tell he was trying
to avoid putting any undo pressure on his back.  Taking a deep breath and
holding it, Lance gently lowered himself into a sitting position.  At one
point he let out a small gasp as he fought against the pain that clearly
racked his lower body.  For the first time, Justin had a clear view of his
face.  His green eyes were on fire; so red with tears they almost looked
bloody.  His normally pale complexion was now tear streaked and marred with
red blotches.  But it was the swollen area under his left eye that made
Justin's heart sink.  That punishment was going to leave a mark, even if
only temporarily.

"Oh man, Lance…" This time he whispered his friends name, as though any
loud noise would only serve to hurt him further.

Avoiding Justin's stare, he gazed out the window.  Remaining that way, he
searched for the resolved to tell Justin what happened. "He used this
wooden…" Lance's voice cracked, the words barely audible, "He forced me
to…" He pressed his lips together tightly, yet a small whimper escaped
as he fought against the memory. With one hand wrapped tight around his t-
shirt, the other fidgeted restlessly with the lock on the car door beside
him.  Although he was sure Lance had no idea he was even doing it, the
rhythmic sound of the lock going up and down seemed almost deafening to
Justin.

"Shhh.  Don't say anything.  It's okay.  I'll take you home.  It's going to
be okay."  Sitting himself behind the wheel, he repeated the words in his
head.  "It's going to be okay.  It's going to be okay." Maybe if he keep
saying it, somehow it would come true.  Fear well up inside him.  How was
he supposed to make this better?  Lance was the one who always took care of
him.  Lance reassured him. Lance was the strong one. Lance stayed in
control… Lance was hurt and shaking uncontrollably in the backseat.

**Now what? Dammit. Why did I tell Gabe he was with me?**

Although he didn't remember dropping them, he found the keys lying beside
him on the seat and started the car.

Relieved that Justin wouldn't push any further, Lance wiped the tears from
his cheeks with the palm of his free hand. The car lurched forward, forcing
Lance's low back into the seat.  He winced silently. Turning to lean
against his side instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing
each knotted and fatigued muscle.  He went through them one by one in his
mind, starting with the easiest; his toes.  It was a trick he learned when
he was young, it kept his mind busy and helped block out his parents'
fighting.  Now it served to block out other painful memories.

Twenty five very quiet minutes later, Justin pulled in front of Lance's
apartment building and turned off the car.  Ever since Diane Bass moved
back to Mississippi, Lance lived alone.

"I got sick."  The words pierced thru the silence, startling Justin. He
thought Lance had fallen asleep.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Lance holding up the crumpled
t-shirt for him to see.  "What?"

"After I did …what he told me…After it was over, I got sick.  I
really tried to hold it in, but he pushed me and I lost control."  There
was a long pause, but Justin said nothing.  Lance needed to do this at his
own pace. Sitting perfectly still, Justin used the mirror and watched Lance
as he looked warily at the shirt in his hands.  "Gabe got angry." He
shuttered at a memory Justin was not invited to share. "Really angry…and
then he made me use my shirt to clean it up."

Justin lean his head against the steering wheel.  That explained the strong
vomit smell.  "That bastard."  He said it mostly to himself, but it was
loud enough for Lance to hear.  With that Lance could hold back no longer.
His body shook violently as the sobbing overtook him.  Justin just let him
cry.

He hadn't seen Lance since he'd brought him home that night. But he called
late yesterday morning and spoke to JC.  As far as everyone else was
concerned, Lance was sick.  According to J.C. it was a case of the stomach
flu.  But Justin knew better.  Standing up, he walked quietly down the
stairs and ventured into the kitchen.

**Hopefully Lance is well enough to be at rehearsal today.  Maybe I should
call him or better yet, go see him.** Yeah, that's what he would do.  If he
didn't hear from Lance by lunch, then he would go over and check on him.

Strictly out of habit, Justin poured himself a bowl of cereal.  Sitting
down at the table alone, he stared into the bowl in front of him.  He
wasn't really all that hungry.

"Hey, Jellybean. Your up early again."

He jumped at the soft voice behind him, but quickly relaxed as he felt the
familiar soft kiss tickle the top of his head.  "Mom…I'm eighteen now
you know.  You can stop calling me Jellybean anytime."  He acted annoyed,
but in reality he liked how special and innocent that nickname made him
feel.

"I don't care if your forty, I'll still be your mother and you'll still be
my Jellybean. So deal with it kiddo."  On the outside he rolled his
eyes. On the inside he was smiling.  She grabbed a bagel out the bread box
and sat down across from him at the table.

"So you want to tell me why your up so early?" He could feel her eyes
judging in his every move; using her 'mom powers' to read his expressions.

"No reason," he shrugged.  Keeping his face hidden, he stared into the bowl
of Captain Crunch as if hypnotized by the ripples his spoon made. "I just
felt like getting up early."  He took a spoonful of the cereal into his
mouth, but had to force himself to swallow it.

"Uh huh.  And what about yesterday? Since when do you get up at five in the
morning? Even if it is to shoot some baskets?"  So she'd heard him out
there.

He looked up and grinned at her, "Busted, huh?"

"Big time!" Her lips smiled, but her worried eyes bore deep into his
own. "Hey, are you feeling alright?"  She leaned into him and placed her
small warm hand on his forehead, then gently slid it down across his cheek.
It was such a mom thing to do.  Instantly he was five again and he was
safe. He wanted desperately to lean into it, but instead he pulled away.

"Yeah mom, I fine.  Really.  I think I'm just wound up about having this
vacation time. You know how it is; don't want to waist even one minute of
it!"  He flashed her that famous Justin Timberlake smile, full of charm and
sincerity.  Then turning away from her glare, he stood and placed the
uneaten bowl of cereal in the sink.

"Well, there's no fever.  But still, I think you should take it easy.  You
haven't been yourself since your birthday. And now with Lance feeling under
the weather…" She trailed off.  "I hope it wasn't from something he ate
at the party.  Oh my god, the bean dip!"  She spun around to face him as if
she just had a major epiphany.

If it wasn't for the sick truth, that statement alone would have brought
him to his knees in hysterics.  As it was, he shook his head and smirked,
"No mom. I don't think the bean dip was Lance's problem.  It didn't do
wonders for anyone sitting close to Joey yesterday, but that's a whole
different deal."

She laughed.  He loved her laugh, it was soft and shy; much like his own.
He missed her so much now. It was ironic really. When Nsync was first
starting out, she traveled with him everywhere and he hated it.  She was
like a noose around his neck, holding him back, treating him like a child.
He needed her approval for everything and it didn't seem fair. J.C., Joey
and Chris never had to ask their moms for permission.  He couldn't wait
until he was old enough to travel alone.  And now…now that he was, he
would give just about anything to have her back with him, at his side,
protecting him.  Everything got so messed up when she left. That's when
Gabe changed. That's when things got…well…bad. Really bad.

"You sure no one else has complained or mentioned feeling ill?" She was
still stuck on that dip.

"Mom, I'm positive.  I think Lance has been fighting something for a while
now.  I guess it just caught up with him." He surprised himself with how
close to the truth that really was.

"Well I just hope he'll be able to make it to your practice tonight.  I'd
really like to see all of you dance once before I leave for Europe."

The statement caught Justin of guard. "What?! Your leaving? When?"  His
heart literally fell into his stomach.  He was looking forward to spending
at least part of his vacation with her.  He even turned down an invitation
to visit his best friend Jonathan in Tennessee. Being with her was much
more important to him.

Confused, she stood and moved to the center island that separated the
kitchen from the dining area.  Facing him, she reach for his hand across
the counter top.  "Honey, I already talked to you about this, remember?"

"No."  The word was filled with disappointment. He felt her softly squeeze
his hand.

"Sure you do.  It was right after you came back from signing those papers
at Gabe's office.  I had just hung up with him…"

"You talked to Gabe?"  Justin was shocked.  Nothing she was saying sounded
familiar to him, of course he'd had other things on his mind that night.
"WHEN did you talk to him?"
  
"The night of your party." She was puzzled by his reaction. "Justin, I told
you this already! He called me right after you boys left his office.  It
was really nice of him, he wanted to apologize for keeping you away from
your party for so long.  Anyway, you know Gabe…once you get him started
he won't stop…He was giving me a hard time about looking too young to
have a fully grown son!  God love him, he's sweet, but he's such a liar!"

"Yeah."  She was teasing. He was not.

"So anyway, that's when he told me about sending the girls to Europe to lay
down a some demo tracks."  The girls.  That was how she referred to the new
pop group, Mayflower.  He still remembered how excited she was when Gabe
asked her to work with him in promoting them.  After all the hard work she
put into Nsync, Gabe said she was a natural in the business.  He offered to
train her, teach her the tricks of the trade, and even help her establish
her own promotion company.  She'd start out working with him and one of his
"talents." In this case the four girl singing sensation, Mayflower. If that
went well, she would take over complete creative control. It would still be
under his name, but all the decisions would be hers.  Finally, when and if
the time came, he would help her find her own new "discovery" and set her
loose.

It was a great opportunity.  But it meant that she would no longer be able
to travel with Nsync.  That alone caused her to hesitate in accepting his
offer.  Justin was only seventeen.  She always planned on staying with him
until he was an adult.  But as Gabe stressed to her, this was an
opportunity too good to pass up. He was very persistent and so
enthusiastic! Besides, he reassured her that Justin would be well taken
care of, if need be, he'd watch over him personally.  And frankly, Justin
seemed more than eager to see her go! So, with little debate, she'd
accepted the offer.

Justin was excited for her.  She'd dedicated her whole life to him and it
wasn't always easy.  As a single parent for much of his life, with no
formal education past high school, hard times were plenty.  At least back
in Tennessee, there were a lot of friends and relatives available to help
out when things got tight.  And things did.  Even though he was very young
at the time, he remembered more than one supper, when he was the only one
eating.  She would sit next to him, sipping tea and telling him stories
filled with castles and dragons. Hanging on her every word, he ate
absentmindedly, forgetting that the food in front of him was not one of his
favorites.  She could make a story so exciting that even cooked carrots
went down with ease.

Then one day when he was eight, Justin decided he wanted to be an actor. It
seemed without so much as a second thought, she left her whole life behind,
and they moved to Florida.  Now they were alone.  Working two jobs, she ran
Justin to every audition in the area, made sure he did his homework and
still told him a story every night before going to bed.  As far as his
memory was concerned, she never slept. And she always smiled.  At least in
front of him.

But one time he did hear her cry.  She was talking to grandma on the phone,
and although he only heard part of the discussion, he was old enough to get
the gist of it: She was lonely.  She was tired.  She was scared.  At some
point in the conversation Grandma must of asked her to come back home,
because the words Justin heard next stuck in his heart to this day.

"No mom, I'm staying right here.  This is what Justin wants, and I would
sacrifice everything to make him happy.  I may have made some mistakes in
my life, but I'll be damned if he's going to pay for them.  He's my life,
my joy, my reason for being. He comes first. Everything I do, I do for
him."

And that's exactly what she did. She sacrificed her dreams, for his. She
sat back and watched him soar, never trying to steal the spotlight, never
pushing him, always telling him that if it wasn't fun anymore, it was okay
to quit. Even after all she'd done to make it happen for him, she would let
him quit on the spot if that made him happy.

So now that it was her turn to shine, he couldn't be prouder of her. She
WAS good at it, and she deserved to be happy.  He would never deny her
that.

And that was how Gabe Huxley got him.

Gabe waited until his mom was excited in her new life, filled with
confidence and blissfully happy, then he threaten to take it all away. ALL
of it: Nsync, his mother's new career, and everything they'd worked for
their whole lives.  And he had the power to do it too; unless Justin did
whatever he said.  What choice did he have? She'd sacrificed her life for
him, now it was his turn.  She was his life, his joy, his reason for being
too. And what about J.C., Chris, Joey and Lance? There was no way he was
going to be responsible for pulling their dreams out from under them.  He
loved them too much.  By now they were his family too.

Feeling his mother hug him suddenly, Justin snapped back to the present.
He realized he'd spaced out half of what his mom was now telling him.

"…I love you, honey.  It will only be for a couple of weeks, we'll still
have a good week together when I get back.  And you never know, this could
run so smooth over there, I'll be back early!  You know I would never leave
if there was any other choice, but Gabe's already got it all set up." She
pulled back out of the hug and smiling, looked into his eyes for
reassurance.  "You do understand how important this is to me, right
Jellybean."

He smiled at the twinkle exploding in her eyes.  "Yeah, it's okay mom.  I
guess I just forgot you told me. Sorry." Then suddenly a horrible thought
crossed his mind. "Hey, you said Gabe set this up, right?"

"Well yeah, he IS the one in charge.  At least for the time being!"  Her
confidence was overwhelming.  Justin knew she was going to go far, she'd
finally found her niche.

"So he's going with you, right?  I mean he's not staying here in Orlando."
In an attempt to appear nonchalant about the subject, Justin went to the
refrigerator , took out the orange juice and poured himself a glass.

"Pour me a glass too, would you?" She glanced at the clock on the
microwave.  "Oh, I better hurry! I guess I'll have to take it with me
upstairs and drink it while I'm getting ready for work."  She grabbed the
glass he held out for her, and moved toward the stairs.

"Mom?  Is Gabe going with you?"  He was more forceful this time, almost
demanding.

Without looking back at him, she called over her shoulder, "I guess I don't
really know…I don't think he ever said.  But I can ask him today if
you'd like."  Reaching the top step, she stopped, turned around and peered
down at him. Her soft smile fell on his face, "Does it really matter to
you?"

"No. I guess not." He lied. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Thanks." His voice was soft and earnest.  It held a sadness she wasn't
expecting.

Taken aback, she studied his face and smiled slightly, confused. "For
what?"

He said, " For the great party."  He meant, "For sacrificing so much of
yourself."

"Hey, you know…anything for my Jellybean.  I just wish you could have
spent more time there."  With that she turned and walked down the hall into
her bedroom.

"Yeah, me too."

  
  
The olive green 1984 station wagon complete with the original wood
paneling, sputtered gracelessly up to the iron gated-entry of the long
private driveway.  A security camera turned above him, tracking his every
move. Pulling to a stop along side a single intercom speaker, he bent
forward and manually rolled down the window.  No fancy electronic doo dads
on this classic.  He bought the car four years ago; right after the
divorce.  She got the Jeep, the house, most of his savings and his
collection of shot glasses from 49 of the 50 states. There were 50 at one
time, but she'd thrown Arizona at him the night she caught him with the
waitress from the local truck stop.  He got the pool table, most of his
clothes and a cat he didn't even remember owning. With no money in his
pocket, this car seemed the perfect choice.  She was sturdy, dependable and
still had all her original parts.  Unlike his ex-wife.  Even if she was
cheap, he loved this car. Again, unlike his ex-wife.

Suddenly, without any prompting, the speaker came alive.  "May I help you?"
The voice was proper; spoken by a true gentleman.  He pictured an
Englishman although no real accent could be heard, dressed in the
traditional black and white butler garb.  White gloves and all.

Taking a final drag off his cigarette, he flicked it casually into one of
the manicured shrubs that flanked each side of the driveway.  A manila
envelope lay next to him on the car seat. Glancing quickly at the name
scrawled across it, he leaned out the window, "I'm here to see a Mr.
Callaway."

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Callaway?"

"He's expecting me."

"And your name sir?"

"Tell him Mr. Smith is here with the package he ordered."  Again he picked
up the envelope, this time showing it to the camera above him.  A cocky,
half-hearted smile crossed his lips.

Without another word, the gate in front of him opened smoothly.  The car
backfired in protest as he threw it into gear and eased slowly up the
driveway.  Initially, he refused this job.  They were just kids for christ
sake.  Sure famous kids, but still…this Callaway dude didn't seem to
walk the straight and narrow.  It made him nervous.  He wasn't looking to
cause trouble. But the money was irresistible, fifteen thousand dollars for
two days work, tops. Who could refuse that?  And now as he ground the
brakes to a stop in front of the main entrance, he laughed at his own
stupid morality.  Turns out these boys aren't as clean cut as they appear.
Anyone who participates in that kind of behavior deserves what they get.
**Hell if I was doing the boss, I'd be famous too.**

Of course he'd heard of the group Nsync even before his initial phone
conversation with this Callaway guy. He didn't have any kids of his own;
the one thing in his marriage he'd actually done right, but his sister's
girl was infatuated with the group.  Possessed really. Walking into her
room was like walking into a modern day shrine: Books, buttons, stickers, a
row of video tapes marked Nsync Appearances, and posters were everywhere.
My god the posters!  There wasn't a spot on any of the four walls that
didn't have one of these kids' faces on it. She was a seventeen year old
young woman acting like a twelve year old girl.  Hmmm….He may just have
to burst her bubble a bit; let her in on their dirty little secret.  Filing
that thought in his head, he tucked the envelop safely under one arm and
slammed the car door shut.  Taking a deep breath, he buttoned the top
button of his shirt and straightened his tie.  As he brushed away the few
crumbles left over from lunch, he ran through the plan one more time in his
head: Just hand over the package, get the cash and wash your hands of the
whole deal.

Simple enough.


"Sir?"  The voice was familiar, yet it started him momentarily.  Most of
the afternoon had been spent in silence, concentrating on the pile of
paperwork in front of him.  Signing his name until his hand spasmed.  Next
time he left the country, he was going to invest in one of those rubber
stamps with his official signature on it.  Okay probably not, but it was
damn tempting.  Opening and closing his right hand in an effort to work out
the cramp, he used his left to punch the intercom button in front of him.

"Yes, Hillman?"

"There's a Mr. Smith here to see you.  I believe the package has arrived as
well."

"It's about damn time. Give me five minutes, then show him in."  Pushing
the pile of papers aside, Callaway moved from behind the small cluttered
office table located at the back of his study. Stopping briefly at the
fully stocked liquor cabinet, he ignored the alcohol completely, instead
choosing to fill a fine crystal goblet with sparkling mineral water.  After
taking a small sip, he returned the glass to the bar, then spun around to
face his desk. It was a large, ornately hand-carved marble and boxwood
masterpiece; a souvenir from his trip to Italy four years earlier.  He
positioned it majestically along the far wall opposite the door.  An
impressive focal point.  He had a motto: When in doubt, walk softly and sit
behind a big desk.  This one always seemed to do the trick.  Before he had
a chance to move behind it, a firm knock echoed from the other side of the
door.

"Come."

Hillman entered first followed closely by a rather non-descript, short,
rosy cheeked man of about forty five. He was pretty much the way he'd
pictured him, except this man had a full head of hair; slightly greasy, but
it appeared to be his own.

"May I present Mr…"

"R.J.  R.J. Smith." The rosy cheeked man ignored the formality and jumped
ahead of the introductions, rushing past Hillman he extended his hand in
greeting.

Hillman stared dumbfounded at the brash maneuver.

"Thank you Hillman.  I'll take it from here."  Callaway tossed him a quick,
understanding smile then waited until he dismissed himself from the room.

Returning his attention to the man in front of him, he graciously extend
his own hand, "It's nice to finally meet you face to face
Mr…ah...Smith?"  Without loosening his grip, he looked at him
questioningly, "I thought it was Odeck?"

"Sometimes it's Odeck, sometimes it's Smith.  Sometimes I don't remember.
But it's always R.J." His smile was large, boisterous and genuine.

Callaway stared at the private eye with cold, examining eyes. Yes, the
voice was the same as the one on the phone. Releasing his grip, he forced a
large smile across his face.  He hoped to match the intensity and flair
shown by Mr. R.J. Smith.  He knew he'd never match it's genuineness.

"I see."  He motioned to the man to take the seat in front of the
desk. Picking up his own glass, he gestured toward the bar, "Can I offer
you something Mr. Smith?"

"Uh…no…no thank you.  And it's R.J." He sank deeply into the chair
and fidgeted nervously as he waited for his host to take his place behind
the desk.

Slowly lowering himself into his chair, Callaway again mentally 'patted in
own back.' A year ago, he decided to have two inches cut off the guest
chair legs.  He got the idea after watching an old gangster movie late one
night.  This, along with the raised platform holding the desk, put him a
good six inches higher than the man across the from him.  Looking down on a
visitor always made them uncomfortable; made them squirm just a bit.
Basically it intensified his home field advantage.  In any situation, he
enjoyed it.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Callaway turned serious, " I believe
you have something for me?"

R.J. jumped to attention and grabbed at the envelop still under his
arm. He'd half forgotten it was there.  "Yep, it's all here.  It was
exactly as you said it would be. Couldn't have gone any smoother." He shook
his head and laughed slightly remembering how simple it was to get these
pictures. "You know, I was impressed that you knew exactly when those boys
would be there.  But what really throws me is how you knew the windows
would be left open.  You had all the information. I still don't see what
you needed me for?"

Callaway ignored the man's question completely and held out his hand.  "The
envelop please Mr. Smith."  It wasn't a question.

Handing it over, again he reiterated, "It's R.J."

Callaway took the envelop and set it down on the desk without opening
it. "I was expecting this yesterday Mr. Smith." His voice was cold and
accusing, his dark eyes pierced through the private detective.

R.J. wiggled uneasily under this man's stare.  "Well…uh… it's not
like I could just run to the local Photo-Mat to get these developed, you
know.  I needed to call in a few favors; used a guy down on Pritt Street.
He runs a small adult 'modeling' agency out of his basement, if you know
what I mean.  But don't worry, the quality's good."

Callaway's facial expression never changed.  His eyes held steadfast and
stone cold on the man across from him.  "Pritt Street you say?"

"Ah huh."  R.J.'s eyes widened suddenly, realizing what Callaway was
getting at, "Hey, hey, you don't have to worry about this guy!  He's with
me, I've used him before and there ain't no way he'd ever talk.  The little
bastard's got too much to lose, if you get my drift.  Besides he don't even
know these kids…not his type…he don't do guys or pop music for that
matter."

Callaway glanced quickly at the golden envelop in front of him, then
returning his glare to the fidgety R.J. Smith who sat before him.  He
purposely softened his features and extended a broad smile in his
direction.  R.J. relaxed visibly and returned the smile, falsely believing
a bond had been forged between them.

"Well, that's that then."  Callaway stood up suddenly.  R.J. awkwardly
followed his lead shocked by the abrupt ending to the conversation.  "When
you return to your car, you'll find an envelop similar to this one on the
front passenger seat. Inside is the payment we discussed." He moved toward
R.J. and escorted him to the door.

Confused and taken off guard, R.J. looked back toward the desk, " Aren't
you even going to look at the merchandise?"

"I trust that even you are not stupid enough to come here with less than
exactly what I ordered."  And with that he shut the door on Mr. R.J. Odeck
Smith Whatever, and let out a deep, mind clearing sigh.  **Fucking bumbling
idiot**

 Once again he sat behind his desk, and stared at the manila package lying
there. He picked it up tentatively, as if just touching the envelop itself
may cause him great bodily harm.  Carefully he opened it up.  Closing his
eyes, he reached in and removed the contents.  Placing the photos face down
on his lap, he let a deep breath escape his lips before he opened his eyes.
Except for the hardness in his lips, not a single trace of emotion was
visible on his face as one by one he examined each photo.  Two blonds
entering a building.  A half naked kid on his knees. A boy bent over a
desk.  A older man holding a paddle ready to strike.  The anguished facial
expression of pain.  Twelve, black and white photos in all.  Moving back to
one with a particularly good view of the tall older gentleman, Callaway ran
a finger across the man's smirking face. Callaway sat transfixed, almost
unable to breath; for him, time stood still.  Finally, he blinked hard to
break his concentration. Then he hit a button on the intercom before him.
"Steade?"

"Steade here." A deep, husky voice rang out instantly; almost as if
expecting the call.

"Has Mr. Smith left the property?"

"The video shows him just exiting now."

"Good.  I want you follow him.  Give it a few days.  If he does anything
suspicious, talks to anyone in a hushed tone, whispers anything remotely
close to my name, drives by my home, or so much as looks in this direction
of town; take him out.  Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Callaway could hear the smile behind the voice.

"Oh, and one more thing.  There's a back alley porn shop on Pritt Street
I'd like to see closed.  Think you can handle that for me?"

"It would be my pleasure.  Trying to clean up the neighborhood, boss?"
Again Steade smirked at his own question.

Smiling along with him, Callaway looked back at the man in the picture,
"Yeah, something like that."


Okay, originally I planned to include a lot more information in this
chapter, but realized it would get way to long and take quite a bit longer
to post. Since I've had a lot of requests for this chapter, I didn't want
to keep you waiting, so I decided to break it in two.  Hopefully Chapter 3
will be out without to much delay!  Thanks for reading!