Date: Sun, 17 Oct 1999 02:46:09 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lance-In-Shining-Armour-16-18

Heyhey!

Normal headers -- this isn't an attempt to portray the real NSYNC group
-- I've never met them.  These characters are figments of my
imagination, based on how *I* think the NSYNCers *may* act. :) I'm
not saying any of them are gay or bi or anything!  I'm just saying they're
a talented group of cute boys. :)

Special thanks go out to DLS and DCKevin.  You guys are great.  And to
everyone else who has emailed me!  I love the mail and I'd love to get
more!  Email comments or critiques to thepoetboy@hotmail.com

Anyway, I promised someone (yeah, L, I mean you) I'd get this up on
Saturday -- so I'm still trying.  (Even though I had a power outage and
lost several pages. :/ )

And to top it off I can't even get online now!  Argh!

Oh, and some of you may have noticed that I got the sexiest author
superlative.  I've decided who gets most of the blame for that, but
thanks. :)

Here we go!

***

Part 16

I still hadn't found my voice by the time we got to the hotel.  James lead
me to the elevator and up to the suite and I can barely remember it.  He
sat me down on the couch and went into he kitchen to talk to the guys, I
stared at the wall still trying to compute everything.

Who I was didn't exist anymore.  No longer a student, no longer
searching for employment in the world.  All I had left were my friends
and my writing.  And Derrick O'Hara.

I felt bonded to that man even though I'd never seen him.  He shot me,
nearly killed me.  And I did the exact same thing to him.  How could I
look down on him for shooting me when I did the same thing?  Did
motivation change the facts?

Part of me said it did.  I did it to save a life, he did it to take one.  That
counted for something.

I didn't even know how much money I stood to inherit.  I had a feeling
that I didn't want to know.

I noticed that the TV was on and looked around.  There was Justin,
sitting beside me on the couch.  I hadn't noticed him show up.

He noticed me watching him and he snorted at me.  "What's up, Daddy
Warbucks?"  He grinned and turned back to the TV flipping through
channels.

"Cold front approaching from the CLICK three cups of water to every
teaspoon of CLICK Whoopi for the block CLICK has died in hospital, he
never regained CLICK television without borders."

"Justin, turn back a channel."  I stared in horror as he turned back.

Derrick had a face.

". . . is uncertain, the doctors are not certain that the two bullet wounds
were the cause of death.  Several threats against Derrick O'Hara's life
had been received by the hospital in the past week.  An autopsy will be
performed tomorrow morning to make certain.  The police had stopped
officially watching over O'Hara's room early yesterday, but the nurses
report seeing no-one go into the room."

He had a face.  He was staring at me from the television set, what looked
like his driver's licence.  Pale skin, reddish brown hair, brown eyes.

Justin moved to turn the channel, noticing the reaction I was having.  I
grabbed the remote from him and stared into those eyes, memorized that
face.  The man I murdered.

Justin turned the TV off manually and forced the remote from my hand
so that I couldn't turn it back on.  He was skinny, but much stronger than
I was.

Especially since I had a hole in my middle.

"David, stop struggling."

I was sinking into an inner world, pulling back from Justin, from the
hotel, from everything.  There were just faces -- Derrick's face, his
daughter's face.  I could see him standing with the gun, I could see it go
off, I could feel the fire in my belly.  I was struggling for the gun and his
face was inches from my own, I was staring into his eyes, he was staring
at our hands as they fought over the gun.  I saw his eyes widen as I got
my finger in the trigger and pulled.  He left out a small scream but his
hands kept fighting, weaker now.  I wanted to lie down, to stop so that
the pain would stop, but I had to pull the gun away.  And it fired again.
He fell and I stood over him.  The girl was crying somewhere behind me.
My knees gave out and I fell onto Derrick, I felt his blood on my hands,
my blood pooling with his.

Justin slapped me.  He slapped me again and again, harder and harder
until my eyes saw him.  He was still on top of me, keeping me from
struggling.

"It's not your fault."

JC was behind him.  James was behind the couch, his hands on my
shoulders helping to hold me still.  Chris was standing beside JC and I
heard Joey rush into the room with a glass of water.

(Glasses of water being required tools for this sort of situation, or any
situation really.)

Now that Justin was sure I wasn't going to struggle he pulled me into a
hug and I buried myself in his shoulder.  But I couldn't cry.  Tears
weren't coming.

I felt the couch sink as James slid in beside me, and his arms were added
to the tangle.  His scent was there, fighting through Justin's stronger
cologne.

I felt empty, with my murderer's soul, but warm and content with these
boys around me.

I should be halfway to hell, not surrounded by friendly faces.  James'
fingers were travelling through my hair.  Focussing on him had worked
before, so I paid attention to those fingers.

A few more minutes passed as I created my world around that caress.
Josh stepped forward and sat on the coffee table, leaning forward.

Then he said those magical words that saved the day.

"Blueberry pancakes are waiting for you."

Condemning yourself to hell always works better on a full stomach.
Especially for Atheists.

***

I was amazed at how well these guys seemed to know me, especially
since I didn't talk about myself much.  I didn't even ask them questions
either.  The facts were blank, but I knew them.

Well, not Chris, and I didn't know much about Joey.  But Joey had
shaved me, you learn a lot about a guy when he's a few inches away
shaving you.

The Golden Griddle probably wasn't the best place to pick -- it was full
of families with young teenaged girls.  After a short panic, the manager
sectioned off part of the restaurant so we'd get some privacy.  There
were still teenage girl eyes peering around dividers, tables and
waitresses.

"How do you guys live like this?"

"Develop a selective memory and damage your eyes.  Then you won't
see them, and even if you do, you won't remember a few minutes later."
Chris laughed at himself and looked around for the waitress.  Not the
fastest service, but the blueberry pancakes were worth it.

Joey leaned forward, "Besides, you'll have stalkers soon enough."

"Poets and playwrights don't get teenage girl stalkers."  I laughed.  It
was kind of forced, but initial shock had passed.  My logical side had
finally kicked in and reminded me that they were doing an autopsy, that
the TV had said they weren't sure the bullets were what killed him.  That
possibility was holding me together.

The waitress showed up with our drinks, which I knew meant another
twenty minutes or so before the food.  I'd gotten weird looks all around
the table when I ordered the chocolate milk, but it was tradition.

I had my fingers crossed that this was a good Golden Griddle -- they
didn't all stack up when it came to pancakes.

Unforgivable pun, but it's in the past now. :)

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" I asked.  They were all still watching
me from the corner of their eyes, making sure I was as strong as I was
pretending to be.  James' hand was on my thigh under the table.

"I want to find a church," James said.  "It's been a while and I've got
some stuff to discuss with God.  You don't mind, do you?"

"No problem.  I can head up to rez and water my plants."

"A bit over protective of those things, aren't you?"

"Well, I've got to talk to my Don too."

Justin was drinking my chocolate milk.  I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You in the mob?"  It was obvious he wasn't the funny one.

"She's the floor babysitter.  I gotta talk to her about withdrawing from
classes."

Silence fell.  All eyes were on me.  My eyes darted around nervously.

"You're dropping out?" Josh asked, as if he'd just found out President
Clinton was a lesbian.

"Taking some time off.  I'll go back next year," I lied.  All of the faces
watching me registered receipt and rejection of the lie.  I was busted.

"You need the degree."  It was James.  I felt like I was surrounded by a
hundred television cameras, with voices coming from all around me.

"For what?  Publishers won't look twice at a guy with just a high-school
diploma?  I picked my programs just to help me learn to write, not to get
me a job.  And year by year the courses are helping less and less.  I'll
still be able to practice writing outside of the university."

10 doubtful eyes stared back.  I was trapped in the booth with Joey on
one side and James on the other.

"Come on, guys." I said.  "Blink once in a while or else the girlies'll
think I'm dating all of ya."

It must be weird to have fans such a part of your reality that you can
forget they are even there.

"We'll talk later," James said as the waitress showed up with the trays of
food.  If fame got you faster food, then I'd have to look into getting my
name out there again.

Soon everyone was eating and comfortable comedy slipped back in.
They were a playful bunch.

But I could feel James still watching me.

***

James pulled the door closed behind him.  His room was quiet and clean.
He'd had about as much of a use for it as I had for mine.

"You can't drop out."

"Why not?"

"Your education is your future!  You can't make it in the world without
a degree!"

"I'm not looking for a career that requires eduction, James!  I want to
put out novels and poems and plays."

"A degree won't stop that from happening.  It'll give you something to
fall back on."

He was talking with his hands, waving them around like a psychotic
windmill.  I grabbed his hands and entwined my fingers with his, resting
my forehead against his.  His eyes were wide and dancing.

"I've got a big pile of money to fall back on, James.  Hell, at some point
I'm going to be a home owner."  I didn't know how long Joy would live,
nor did I want to.  I was in no hurry to be rich, not if it meant someone
else had to die.

"What're you going to do, David?"

"I'm going to get myself an apartment and write.  And write.  And write,
until I've got something good enough to publish."

He put his hands on either side of my head and the green eyes looked
right past my own, right into my head.

"Then come with me, David."

My head got that hollow feeling of dread -- the feeling that comes
whenever I have to say something that could hurt someone I cared for.
Someone I loved.

"I'm not leaving school to do nothing.  I'm going to work at writing as
hard and as long as I need to until I life what I'm turning out."

"You can do that on the road with us."

"I can't do that on the road.  Do you know how distracting it would be to
be in a different city every night?"

"You can adapt.  It took me a while . . . "

I interrupted him.  "But you have deadlines.  You have people you have
to answer to.  If I'm the only person I have to answer to, then the
distractions will eat me alive."

"You can answer to me."

"To you?  You'd be my biggest distraction, James!"  I smiled at him,
trying to keep things light.  "How could I focus on a computer screen
when I knew you were in the next room?"

"You promised not to do this to me again.  You can't walk out on me."

"I never promised to go everywhere with you.  I'm not walking out,
we're just going to have to be apart."

That was the first time it was really said, finally the words were out.  We
were going to be separated.

"I'm not good at travel, James.  And I'm a sucker for any distraction that
comes along.  If these past few days are any indication, I'd never get
anything done.  You live on a roller coaster, Jimmy."

He wrapped those strong arms around me and hugged me like a vice.
"I'm not the one who got shot and rich in one week."

"You are the one the media has been chasing.  I'll always be here, a
phone call away.  And I'll visit you whenever I can.  My schedule it
pretty well clear."

He laughed into my shoulder.  I couldn't imagine this room without
James, or this day, this week.  My life.  Subtract James from my life and
you had an unknown that I didn't want to live.

I memorized his hug, his heat and everything I could.  I saved everything
up for the coming drought, something to remember when he was too far
away to see.

Frankly, I'd have loved to go on tour with the guys, but it wasn't realistic
for me or him.  Someone would have noticed all of our time together.
I'd never have gotten anything done.  I'd have had no roots -- and now I
had the chance to form those roots.  After years of being essentially
homeless, I could afford a place of my own.  No more 8 month rentals
from the university, or feeling like a guest in my parents' house.  I could
have a home of my own.

And while James and the guys were great, I couldn't walk away from all
of my Toronto friends.  I was suffering withdrawal symptoms as it was
and it had only been a week.  I really had to call them, maybe get
something arranged for lunch.

"David?  Will you come to church tomorrow?"

I tensed.  Churches are great -- the buildings themselves are beautiful
things, they carry a weight of faith that makes them gorgeous.  But they
were also incredibly dull and awkward experiences.

I'd nearly walked out of the last funeral I'd been to because my mind
was mocking everything the holy man at the front was saying.  I don't
vocalize my problems with organized religion, and in fact I have great
respect for the positive effects religion has on people, but I don't like it
being shoved up my nose.

"I don't think you'd want me there, James.  They make me
uncomfortable."

James was great about it, he never brought up our religious differences.
He had his faith, I had mine.  We could discuss our religions without
attacking each other.  There was respect for beliefs.  And any belief that
could have created James was worth a little respect in my books.

If he asked me again, I knew I'd buckle.

"Please?"

Damn.

***

Part 17

We lay on the bed for most of the evening, just talking about our pasts.  I
told him about high-school, my family and other boring stuff that no-one
who wasn't in love with me would ever want to hear.  Then he told me
about his upbringing, his experiences with the band and his company.

"You should listen to her CD," he said, stroking my hair as I lay on his
chest.  "You'd love it."

"How can you like country and be in NSYNC?"

"How can you like country and listen to NSYNC?"

"Checkmate.  Music is music.  Unless it's not."

"That's really deep, David."

"Shut up."

I lifted my head and brought it back down, knocking some air of out
him.  He laughed and started tickling me.  He knew my sensitive spots,
so I was forced to declare war.

We made a mess of the bed in the battle, both trying to escape the other
and mount attacks.  I had to make him stop once or twice because the
laughing was making my stomach hurt like hell, but for the most part we
just got louder and rougher and rougher.  I'd managed to unbutton his
shirt enough to get proper tickling access to his sides when Chris walked
by and yelled through the door, "You two better be using condoms!"

I was lost in hysterics, blinded by the tears in my eyes.  James tackled
me from the side and I didn't fight it.  He stayed on top of me and huffed
and puffed, getting his breath back.

"You're dangerous, David," he drawled.

"And you're a dead man, James."

It didn't take long for my attack to make him curl up into the fetal
position, trying to protect all of his ticklish bits.

***

He was wrapped around me, his chest to my back and his arm curled
around mine, holding my hand.  The room was dark and the bed was a
mess, we'd both just fallen asleep after he finally gave up the battle.

I slowly pulled myself away from him and climbed out of the bed.  I took
a blanket that had been thrown to the floor and put it over him as gently
as I could.

My bandage needed to be changed.  Half asleep, I stumbled into the
bathroom and pulled off my shirt.  There were dabs of red showing
through the bandage -- the price of winning a tickle war.  Well worth it, I
thought.

I peeled the old bandage away and was happy to see the blood was dry,
and there wasn't much of it.  I dropped it in the garbage and got out a
replacement.

"David?"  I heard James' groggy voice from the bedroom.

"I'll be out in a second."

He was already standing in the doorway.  He wiped his hand across his
eyes, blinking in the light.

"I'm just changing the bandage.  Go back to bed."

"I'll help."

He took the scissors and the tape and started cutting the lengths.  He
noticed the old bandage in the garbage can and looked at me.

"You're still bleeding?"

"It was just a little bit.  It dried up."

"You're going to a doctor tomorrow.  I don't think it should still be
bleeding."  His accent was strong.  Lordy, I love it when he's drowsy.

"It's fine."

He didn't believe me.  I knew things were going to revert to me being
nurse maided.  No more tickle fights, no more cuddling on the couch.
Nurse James would be watching me like a hawk.

With those pretty green eyes that were so tired their could barely focus.

He put the last piece in place and then grabbed my hand, pulling me
towards the bedroom.  I didn't move.

"I'll be there in a second."

He stood behind me and put his chin on my shoulder, letting his eyes
drift closed.  His hands clasped on my stomach -- carefully avoiding the
bandage, I noticed.

I watched him in the mirror.  My nightmares were gone.  It was the first
night that I'd had no trouble at all -- when James was there, it was better.
The real nightmares happened when he was gone, even if it was just for
a few minutes.  But now there was nothing.  My faceless man wasn't out
there anymore.

He was dead.

And hopefully it wasn't because of me.

I gave up on studying the mirror when James started snoring on my
shoulder.  I lead my sleeping beauty back to the bed and took off his belt
and finished removing his shirt.  He was barely awake, just enough to
follow my orders when I commanded him to get under the sheets.

I briefly considered finding out what sort of orders he'd accept when he
was like this, but discarded the idea.  It would be a lot more fun if he
was willing and able.  So I just climbed under the blankets with him, put
my head on his shoulder and ran my finger around one of his nipples
until I fell asleep.

***

I woke up before James did, but I didn't wake him.  I held out hope that
he'd wake up way too late for any church going.  I prayed to God to let
James sleep through church.  God proved his disdain for Atheists around
nine, when beautiful green eyes fluttered open.

Then those green eyes flicked around nervously.

"How long have you been sitting there watching me?"

"Two hours."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"More fun this way, trust me."

"Enjoy the view?" he laughed.

"You have no idea."

"Good morning kiss?"

"Not until you've had a morning visit with Crest."

"I prefer Colgate."

"I'll break you of that."

"Promise?"

"I threw out your Colgate about an hour ago."

"What else have you been up to?"

"Not much."

"What time is it?"

"Around 9."

"Sleep well?"

"Very well.  You?"

"Except when I woke up and you were gone, it was great."

"I've mentioned you have a huge Adam's apple, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, just checking."

He swung his pillow at my head, but I was already off the bed.  If you're
ever in hand to hand combat with an NSYNCer, make sure they don't
get the chance to fully wake up first.

He started to get up to chase me, but then thought better of it and stayed
where he was.

I let my smile fade.  "You won't break me."

"I don't want to hurt you again."

"I hurt me.  I made me bleed -- I'll tell you when you hurt me.  If I can
survive a bullet, I can certainly survive a tickle battle from you."

"You got to be careful with the stitches."

"Yes, I do -- but you don't.  I'll protect me, you just make sure I'm
having fun. Deal?"

He grinned.  "Deal.  Now shut up and kiss me."

"Sorry, but even Mary Chapin Carpenter would hold off that song until
you've brushed."  I slipped out of the room and heard the pillow hit the
door.

***

JC was wheeling in a cart of food when I got to the main room.  He
smiled at me and pointed to one covered plate.

"Blueberry pancakes -- not from the Griddle."

"I'm not fussy."

"I know -- I've seen your choice of boyfriends."

I snorted and grabbed the plate he'd pointed to.

"You think he's a loser?  You should see some of my ex's.  What's
James getting this morning?"

"French toast.  He'd live on the stuff if he had the choice."

"Another habit I'll have to break him of."

"Good luck.  You have a better chance of getting Chris to shave his
head."

"Sounds like a challenge, I'm in."

"Just shut up and eat.  You've got a busy day -- soaking up some
religion, boy."

Josh had the room next to James -- the walls must be made of tissue
paper.  Good thing I didn't get creative with Private Jimmy.

James wandered in and came straight to me.  I was torn between another
mouthful of pancakes and a kiss from a God.  Sadly, this Atheist chose
pancakes.  The kiss would still be there later, growing sweeter by the
minute.

James looked a little mad until he saw the french toast -- once that was
in his sight I doubted he remembered I was there. So much for not
worshipping false idols.  Especially when maple syrup was thrown in.

Joey wandered in a while later but refused food, complaining of a sore
stomach.  I scoffed, but decided not to play a game of  One Up.'  He
plopped on the couch.

"When do we have to head out, James?"  I asked, having finished the
pancakes in record time.  Not as good as the Griddle, but not too shabby.

"The car is coming at 10:30, things start up at 11."

"Isn't that late for church?"

James shrugged and speared his last piece of food.  He swallowed it
quick and then turned back to me.

"So where's my kiss?"

"Joey's got it, get it from him."

Joey made a sick face.  "Hey, I'm already sick, I don't need to puke."

"Ya know you want him, Joey.  Take him for a trial run, he ain't a bad
kisser."

"I'll take your word on it."

James climbed into my lap and kissed me -- a short one, but well worth
the wait.  "Last chance, Joey."  Joey shook his head and laughed, so I
dove back in for another kiss.

"Mmm.  Maple flavoured."

"I'm going to catch a shower, I'll be out in a few minutes, Davey."

I watched James' butt walk out of the room and sighed.  JC was cracking
up with a fork hanging from his mouth.

"You two are sad, man.  You're a romance novel waiting to happen."

"We're not that bad!"

"Please, the syrup wasn't needed, you guys were sickeningly sweet
enough already."

I laughed.  "Don't make me kick your ass, Mickey Mouse Boy."

"Mickey Mouse Boy?  You make fun of me for that when you're dating
Poofoo the dalmatian?!"

"Okay, you asked for it."  Every pillow on the couch was thrown at him,
one after the other.  Unfortunately, that meant that soon enough, he had
all the ammunition.

I jumped over the back of the couch for cover, leaving Joey defenceless
on the couch.

"What the hell did I do?" Joey yelped as he was bombarded.

Chris wandered into the room from the kitchen with glass of water.
"What the hell's going on?"  He stood behind the couch beside where I
was crouched.  I looked up at him and noticed he was smiling at me at
me in a less than comforting manner.

I didn't dive fast enough to avoid the water from the tipped glass and he
backed away from the soaked and sprawled pile of me, laughing.

I admitted defeat.  They outnumbered me three to one, and if I started
bleeding again James would never let me do anything.

"I give, you guys win.  But I'll get revenge."

I stumbled to my feet and dripped my way to my room -- nearly falling
flat on my face when Joey managed to hit the back of my leg with a well
thrown pillow.  They would all suffer.  It had been foretold.

I could hear the shower running as I went through my bags looking for
something that could pass for church clothing.  I'd packed comfy stuff,
not dressy.  I figured black jeans might work, but then noticed that James
was a step ahead of me.  A pair of black pants and a light blue shirt were
on the bed, his clothing.  I knew the pants would feel like a vice around
my waist in short time, but it was better than anything I had.

The shower stopped and I grabbed my new wardrobe and headed for the
bathroom.  James had a towel around his waist by the time I got in there,
and I gave him a disappointed sigh.  He laughed and quickly spiked his
hair.

I started the water and got it to the right temperature before stripping
down to my boxers.  I climbed into the shower and tossed the boxers
over the top of the curtain before I flipped the water from faucet to
shower head.  I could hear James singing to the mirror and I knew the
song.

Now was my chance to prove that I wasn't all that bad a singer.  (Well, I
was that bad of a singer, but for some reason I did well at harmony.)  I
chimed in.  I wasn't a big fan of Garth Brooks -- but I knew "The River".
No self respecting country fan didn't know "The River" and "The
Dance" off by heart.

He picked up volume and I tried to match -- it had been years since high-school choir, so I was a
bit rusty.  I was really enjoying myself by the
time the second verse came around.  Yeah, it was a lot of fun until he
flushed the toilet and ran from the room laughing while every hair on my
body was burned away.

***

"You're not bad," James told me as we waited for the elevator.

"Not good either.  Really out of practice."

"Yeah, but you're not  slit-your-wrists' horrible."

There was a ding as the elevator arrived.  Doug walked out, reading an
article in the newspaper -- an article about Derrick O'Hara, I noticed.
He was involved in the paper so he didn't notice us slip into the elevator.

He must've heard us though because he turned around.  I smiled and said
"Hello" as politely as I could as my hand desperately searched for the
 door close' button.

"Two more newspaper interviews today, David.  They want to know how
you feel about the death."

My finger struck gold -- the doors started to close.

"I'm sorry?  What was that, Doug?"

He disappeared as the doors sealed -- but I did see enough to know I was
going to be in for one hell of a temper tantrum next time our paths
crossed.

My pocket was ringing even before we got down to the lobby.  James
and I were laughing and I didn't bother to answer it.  Tempers can wait
for a while.

A hotel worker was waiting for us in the lobby and met us at the
elevator.  "Your cab is here, Mr. Bass."

James thanked her and I reached for my wallet to tip her but James
grabbed my hand and lead me away.  "You don't have to tip for
everything.  They do get paid to do this, you know."

"They need it more than I do."

I was pushed into the cab and we were off.  I patted my pocket to make
sure I have my travel pad and my pen -- if I got too bored I could always
try to work on a poem.

"Anything I should know about church going?"

"Just that your butt is gonna hurt like hell."

"Well, just as long as you brought a condom."

I watched his face and counted as the comment sunk in.  His eyes
widened and his jaw dropped.  Three.  Not bad -- I was used to counts of
five or more with a lot of my friends.

I giggled and stared out the window.  It was only a ten minute trip and
the church was beautiful.  It had a Gothic front, even though it wasn't all
that big.  I beat James to the punch and paid the driver.

***

It was still twenty minutes before the service, so the church was mostly
empty.  James pulled me up some stairs and chose a spot where we
wouldn't be too noticeable.  I kept track of exits just in case Jimmy got
recognized.

James lost himself in his own little world -- I assumed it was how he
chose to practice his religion.  I did my best not to practice my own -- the
service would take forever if I sat there and went over my objections to
everything anyone said.

In first year, one of my English classes studied Genesis as a literary text -- that's how I planned to
approach the morning.  Interpretation, story,
fiction -- a study of a text, not a practice of belief.  I found religions to be
fascinating from the outside -- with any luck I could keep the fascination
going.

People started to file in and fill up the pews -- the upstairs section
seemed to be the domain of the younger church-goers, and I got
increasingly nervous.  If we were down there, the parents and
grandparents probably wouldn't have a clue who James was, but up here
it was like sitting on a barrel of exploding holy water that was ready to
go off at any time.

"James? How long is the service?"

"Depends.  Changes from place to place."

"I think I left the stove on."

He giggled.  "Just shut up and relax."

I picked up one of the books in front of me and started flipping through
it.  I loved the really thin paper they used in religious texts -- it made
everything seem special.  The copies of the New Testament that the
school board had given us in sixth grad (and the french version I got in
grade seven when I enrolled in French Immersion) had the thin paper.  I
still had those in what used to be my room, back at my parents' place.
Inside of the English one was my signature, offering myself up to God.
The man who delivered the books to the class had stood there, waiting
for all of us to sign our copies.  By lunch, most of the little red books had
been tossed into the garbage can beside the teacher's desk, signatures
and all.

The Bible I'd had to buy for first year English had normal pages -- I can
remember being disappointed when I unwrapped it.

And there was the Bible my parents got at their wedding that was in the
buffet in the basement.  It had a white cover and was attached to the
inside of a wooden box that had a little gold latch.  On the inside of the
wooden box was a painting of Jesus raising his hands towards the sky.
The box was always covered in dust, but that white Bible had the
thinnest pages I'd ever seen.

Thin pages had come to mean religion.  It altered my approach to any
book -- there was a heavy poetry anthology that I'd bought for a second
year course.  It had the thin pages and I could never bring myself to write
in the margins between poems.  It had seemed sacrilegious.

The priest (reverend?  I realized I had no idea what he was supposed to
be called) started off with community notes.  One of the parishioners had
passed away, a few more were getting married.  The kids that were up
top with us were already having whispered conversations about their
week.  I found my attention was more on them than on the . . . preacher?

I followed along as best I could, flipping through the Bible to the
passages that were being discussed up front (something I noticed very
few people down below were doing -- must be a creepy English major
trait . . . . not that I could declare myself an English major any more.)

Behind me, three girls were debating Ricky Martin's sexuality.  I was
hoping they'd slip over to NSYNC -- I was wondering what they thought
about my James.

My butt was hurting already -- I developed a theory that the pews lacked
comfort so that people wouldn't fall asleep.  I know, not very original,
but if so many people have thought it, there must be some basis in truth,
otherwise seating would have evolved to match a movie theatre.  (Those
new theatre seats that can rock are great -- I manage to annoy everyone
around me when I get a seat like that.)

The wood kept creaking every time I tried to get comfortable.  Finally I
started reading The General Epistle of James, just because of my present
company.  It starts off "JAMES, A servant of God and of the Lord Jesus
Christ" and I knew his mother must have had that in mind when my
James was named.  What better name for the angel beside me?

My cheese warning went off and I focused on the reading again.

2:10 "For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offence in one
point, he is guilty of all."

2:11 "For he that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do not kill.
Now if thou commit no adultery, yet if thou kill, thou art become a
transgressor of the law."

Great.  I was a murderer AND an adulterer.  Quite a soothing book, the
Bible.

I spent the rest of the service flipping through the Bible, reading
passages at random.  Nothing profound really hit me.

When everything was over, the upper part cleared out quickly.  All of the
little people made their escapes -- religion was something they had yet to
grow into.  James and I waited for a while so that we'd be able to leave
without running into a mob.

"How'd you like it?" James asked me.

"It was fun.  I found out that I'm an adulterer."

Confusion spread across his face.

"Don't look at me that way, Jimmy, it was in your book."

I giggled and headed for the stairs, tossing the Bible onto his lap.

***

Part 18

James got the cab to take us back to the hospital that had caged me
earlier in the week.  We waited for an hour in emergency before I was
actually seen by a doctor.

"Ah, so you're the David Sheer that made this place into such a zoo this
week."

I forced a smile at his sixty year old sense of humour and nodded.  I
peeled away the bandage so he could get a look at the wound.

"My nurse over there," I said, nodding to James who stood by the door,
"is worried about my boo boo."

"Stitching seems fine -- is it painful?"

"There's a dull ache, but it's not that noticeable."

"Looks fine to me.  We can do a bit of a cleaning while you're here, it
could help it to heal a bit."

I agreed and spent the next few minutes in a cloud of pain while he
worked his voodoo over my stomach.  I smelled like a hospital hallway
by the time he was done.  The doc smiled at me.

"Done -- I'll just get a nurse to patch you up and you can go."

"Don't worry about it, doc.  My nurse and I can manage."

"We've got to do it, David.  The hospital lawyers would kill me if I let
you do it."  He walked over to the sink and took off his latex gloves.  He
then set about washing his hands even though they'd never come in
contact with me.  "You heard about Derrick O'Hara, didn't you?"

James' hand closed over mine.  I stared at the doctor's back.

"I heard he died, yeah."

"He was poisoned.  Showed up in the autopsy."

I felt a giant climb off of my shoulders.

"Hadn't heard."

"Autopsy results haven't been released yet -- they're still going over it.
You sure you don't want any pain killers?  I can prescribe a small dose
for you, just enough to take the edge off."

"I can live with it, thanks."

He dried his hands on some paper towels and smiled.  "It was nice
meeting you, David.  But just a tip, no more getting shot.  It's not very
good for you."

I waited impatiently for him to leave and then pulled James into my
arms and yelped in celebration.  He laughed in my ear as I crushed him.

"I guess I'm not an adulterer after all."

I stopped short of picking him up and swinging him around.

He pulled himself back far enough to look into my eyes.  "Are you going
to tell me what the hell that means?"

"Nope."  I grinned widely and kissed him.

***

James and I spent the afternoon shopping.  First off, we bought him a
new disguise since he'd left his old one at the hotel.  I got him
sunglasses that made him look like a blond traffic cop.  Then I maxed
my credit card out on a new wardrobe.  I'd been wanting to do that for
years, but somehow the money was always needed in other places.

Not that maxing my card meant much.  Still, a one thousand dollar limit
got me more clothing than I thought I'd ever need.

I also had James on the lookout for a thank-you gift for Josh.

"He likes Rodney Dangerfield."

I shuddered in disgust.  "Not what I was thinking of.  Something with a
bit more . . . class."

James shook his head.  "No respect.  No respect at all."

"Hey, don't make me steal the hat and abandon you to your fans."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Watch me."

I grabbed the hat and ran through the crowd.  I could hear James start his
pursuit (he was carrying most of the bags, giving me a speed advantage),
and the occasional squeal of recognition.  I stopped in front of The
Museum Company and turned to see James -- he wasn't running after me
as much as away from the half dozen girls behind him.  I pulled him into
the store and gave him back the hat.  I couldn't save him from the girls.

He signed autographs while I toured the store.  It was my favourite store
in the Eaton's Centre.  It was a  gifty' store -- one of those places
designed for pretentious people with high IQ's.  One side of the store
was filed with Tiffany lamps and stained glass, I headed over to the
oddities section.  It was full of intellectual games and strange little
things you'd never think you could buy anywhere.  I decided on a cool
little antique style tin whistle that came with an instruction book and a
pile of songs.  I had no idea whether he'd like it or not, but I knew I
wanted it.

That was my trick to gift buying -- only buy things for others that I'd
want myself.  It usually worked out.

James caught up to me at the cash register, with the girls still trailing
him but they were calmer now -- they had their proof of the encounter.

"David, these are some of my fans."  He tried to list off the names, and
missed only one.  Sarah/Sandra didn't seem too upset.

"Wait," said Monica or Michelle (I don't have as good a memory for
names as James has), "You're David Sheer, right?"

I nodded and handed my credit card to the cashier.

"Wow," Monica/Michelle said.  "You and Lance really are friends?"

I nodded again.  The cashier returned my credit card and bagged my
purchase.  By my estimation I was left with a four dollar credit limit.

I turned to James.  "Where to now . . . Lance?"

James looked down at the bags in his hands and then let his eyes dart to
the fans.  "The hotel."

***

We walked into the suite and dropped the bags by the door.  Justin was
on his laptop and Chris was flipping channels on the TV.  I could see
Joey in the kitchen.

"Guess who's not a murderer?" I called out happily.  It got me some
strange looks in response, but the smiles came soon enough.

"Doug already told us," Chris said.  "Speaking of whom, he's in the
kitchen with some lawyer."

Joey motioned me into the kitchen and I hesitantly stepped into the
room.   Doug was watching me like I'd just run over his dog, but the
other man seemed almost jovial.  He was in his late thirties, trim and in a
snazzy suit.  He put out his hand.

"I'm David Masters.  I'm Joy Hilliard's lawyer."

I blanched.  "She didn't . . ."

"No, she's fine.  I just wanted to get in touch with you since we had
some business to take care of."

"Like what?"

I hopped up onto the counter and Joey hopped up beside me.  James
leaned on the doorframe.

"Like your trust fund.  I'm going to set up a bank account and transfer
the fund into that.  You'll have full access to the money by tomorrow,
just come over to my office and I'll give you the bank book and bank
card."

"Cool, thanks.  Then I can go apartment hunting later this week."

"Nope.  That's the other reason I'm here."  He stood up and fished
around in his pants pocket.  He found a set of keys and tossed them to
me.  "The address is on the key chain.  The servants are expecting you
sometime this week."

"These are to Ms. Hilliard's house?"

"Your house.  She decided that you might as well use it since she has no
use for it.  I've got a few things you'll have to sign, but then the deed
will transfer over to your name."

"That woman is a saint."

"Tell me about it," the other David laughed.  He pulled out a pen and
laid out some forms on the counter beside me.  Lance picked them up
and read them over, one by one.  I waited for him to finish and for his
response.  Lance nodded and then James smiled.

I signed.

Then I held up the keys and jingled them.  "Who wants to go house
hunting?"

"You're going to wear me out," James complained with a smile.

"You can rest starting Tuesday -- you're on my time now."

Doug finally blustered himself to full size and came to his feet.  "Not so
fast -- you've got two interviews to give."

"Can I do them by phone?"

He considered it and finally nodded.

"Okay, give me the numbers and I'll make the calls en route, deal?"

"Deal."  He scribbled out two names and numbers and then I grabbed
James and ran for the door.  David II laughed and collected his papers.

Doug yelled after me.  "If you don't make those calls I'll sue you for
breach of contract!"

Chris, Justin and Joey grabbed their coats and met up with James and I
at the elevator.

"Where's Josh?"

"He's downstairs with the limo," Justin said.  "We'd had a feeling this
would happen."

I FINALLY got a ride in a limo.

***

"No, I didn't want him to die.  What kind of question is that?"  These
people from the Sun were horrible.  The interview with the Star had
gone flawlessly, five minutes and it was over.  The Sun was desperately
trying to find an interesting angle.

I sipped my wine as the reporter read off his next question.

"Where were you when O'Hara was allegedly poisoned?"

I hung up on him.  "The Sun just tried to accuse me of poisoning Derrick
O'Hara.  But the call was made, Doug got his wish."

We were heading north of the city, into the North York region -- the
expensive area, I noticed.

"How big is this place?" Justin asked.

"Don't know.  Haven't heard much about the house.  Joy has spent a
long time setting it up to her likings though."

I was falling in love with limousines.  After the TTC, the back of Doug's
rental and a few cabs, it was a nice change of scenery.  And you've got
to love a vehicle that keeps some quality wine on ice.  The celebration
was in full swing -- a last minute house warming party on wheels.  The
car pulled up in front of a stone wall.  Iron gates were open and I stared
in shock as the limo turned up the driveway.

My house had iron gates.  And a stone wall.

It wasn't a huge house, but it was a big lot.  It was covered in huge trees
that had already started to turn orange and red.  Mostly maple trees, but
there were some others mixed in.  The grass was green and cleanly
mowed.  Bright flowers were bunched in beds all around the lawn.  I was
especially happy with all of the lilac bushes -- my allergies weren't, but
I was.

The house itself was like a city cottage.  It had a porch that wrapped
almost all the way around and wooden siding that was a dusty beige.

I stood up and stared at the house from the sun roof.  James stood up
beside me with a wide smile, but his smile was at my reaction.  He was
watching me stare in awe at my kingdom.

I felt like Cinderella at 12:02, wondering why the coach hadn't turned
back into a pumpkin, but knowing it still could at any time.

It was a small castle, but it was my castle.  I plunged my roots in deep.

The front door opened and a man in dress pants and a grey dress shirt
walked down the steps.  I let James pull me back down into the car and
out onto the driveway . . .   my driveway.  My cobblestone driveway.

The man in the grey shirt held out his hand.  "I'm Michael, I've been
overseeing the house.  I've prepared the three bedrooms for you and your
guests."

JC interrupted, "Most of us won't be staying."

I shook myself out of my shock.  "You can stay.  You don't have to go
back to the hotel.  Come on, you can help me investigate the place."

I tried to wait to see his response, but I couldn't help myself.  I ran up
the stairs and into my new home, pulling James behind me.

On the inside, the house was even more like a beach house.  It was bright
though, or would be if it wasn't getting dark outside.  There were
windows everywhere.

I popped my head into the first doorway to the right, to a sitting room
with huge windows and a large stone fireplace.  There we a number of
little picture frames and books on various tables.

Every room was like that, filled with curiosities.  It gave the place a
cluttered look, but I guess that's what happened after eight decades
of life -- you collected so many interesting things that it pulled you
down.

I heard the stairs creak and saw JC climbing up.  He stopped and looked
 at each picture on the wall as he went.  The pictures at the bottom were
of a little girl and her parents.  As you climbed the stairs, Joy got older
and her parents got older.

She looked about twenty the her father disappeared from the pictures.
She was in her mid forties when her mother disappeared and another
woman appeared, a woman the same age as Joy with blond hair and a
beautiful smile.

At the top the pictures were of Joy again, alone.

JC was moving from room to room.

"This is so cool, David.  Look out the windows."

I checked each window.  Each one had a view of the yard and a different
tree.  You could see bits of the stone wall, but none of the neighbouring
houses.  It was like living in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the
city.

Chris came running into the room. "You've got to see the attic."  Then
he ran back out.  I followed him down the hall and to a little door.  JC
and James caught up with us there.

We climbed a narrow set of stairs to a large room, it covered the entire
width and depth of the house, and from every corner there were eyes
watching us.  Paintings of a blond woman with a beautiful smile.

Interspersed were paintings of different things.  Bowls of fruit, the house,
trees and lilac bushes, but the blond woman was the primary theme.

I felt like I'd stepped into a romance movie.  Or maybe a  ghost story.  As
beautiful as it was, it was also damn creepy.

JC was walking around the room with the others.  "Did Joy do these?"

"I think so."  I couldn't think of another painter that would make sense.

James was staring at a painting of the blond woman.  "But they're
different.  Look, the ones of the blond woman are really different than
the ones of the house or the trees."

"I can't explain it," I said.

I was standing in a stranger's house, and it was mine.

***

End of part 18.

The next set should be out by Thursday -- but there are no promises. :)

Email me!  I love to get email -- thepoetboy@hotmail.com