Part 3


They never re-taped his mouth, but he didnít cry out for help. He knew if he did they would make him pay. Instead he sat in silence, crammed in the tiny space, unable to lay down. His back was pressed against the wall, his knees bent so that his feet were tucked up to his ass. His hands were still cuffed tightly behind his back . His head was forced down by the low ceiling and his forehead rested on his knees.

Tape was still wrapped round his eyes, his hair matted around it. He was pretty sure that even if they took the tape off his eyes would still be glued shut, they didnít sting anymore, but he couldnít help but wonder if he would be blind at the end of this. Pain shot up his spine as his body cramped from the hours, maybe days he couldnít tell which it was of not being able to move. Another thought rushed into his head, would he end up crippled, unable to stand straight? it didnít matter of course he might not get out alive anyway. He became frightened and his mouth trembled slightly, he could hear them mumbling outside his prison, discussing him. He winced as his bladder contracted , he really needed to relieve himself and not just a piss either. He bit his lip trying to give himself something else to concentrate on , anything rather than his dire need. He had forgotten his lips were skinless remembering only when his mouth filled with his blood.

His chest heaved as he tried not to panic, the bolt had been drawn back, they were coming for him. Oh God, Oh God. His feet were grabbed and he was pulled out. His head bounced off the floor as he fell backwards, dragged across the floor like a sack of rubbish. He groaned and curled up, He could feel their eyes crawling over his naked flesh like millions of ants. JC breathed deeply in through his mouth, out through his nose, In, out, in, out, attempting to force his racing heart to slow down. He was lifted to his feet and made to walk forward supported from both sides. A rough skinned hand closed round his cock and a sob caught in his throat as he thought the worse.

"Piss. Now."

His shoulders shook and his faced burned red with humiliation as he emptied his bursting bladder. He was twisted round by his shoulders, his hands un-cuffed. he was pushed backward onto the toilet pan. "Do what you have to boy. But donít try to remove the tape."

"Yes sir" He whispered his voice small and crackly from thirst. A door shut and he breathed a sigh of relief as they afforded him this tiny bit of privacy, he emptied his bowels and felt around for paper to clean himself, flushing the pan when he had finished. The door opened again at the sound of running water.

"So a popstars shit does stink, just the same as the rest of us!"

Hands fastened in his hair and he was walked back to his cell, pulled along by the matted mess that was once brown curls.

"Kneel"

JC got down on his knees his head hanging low on his chest.

"Hands behind you NOW."

Again he did what he was told. The cuffs were snapped back into place.

"Now sweetheart. You are going to make a phone call."

* * *

Chris almost dropped the phone in his haste to answer it, JCís name was flashing on the caller id. "Jace, where are you? weíve been so worried."

"Heís here. Heís safe for now."

Chris fell back into his chair. His hand clasped over his mouth as he collected his thoughts. "Can ... can I talk to him. .... Please.?" There was muttering then JC spoke "Hello" His voice was weak, frightened.

"Oh sweet Jesus Jaycee."

"Chris ... Chris I have to tell you ... do what they want ... they ... they said." JCís voice cracked as he struggled to say the words he had been coached to say "They said they will kill me ... if ... if you donít do what they say ... Chris please ... please do what they say."

"Its gonna be ok Josh, I promise do you know where you are?"

"No"

The sound of flesh hitting hard against flesh reverberated in Chrisí ears and then the soft sound of his friend crying.

The harsh distorted voice came back on the line

"You made me do that, Its your fault I had to hurt him. Now listen carefully. You have three days, I want 25million dollars, you will get details of when and how."

Chris gasped in shock "Itís impossible. Even if we had that kind of money, its in stocks and bonds, property, We need more time to liquidate our resources." The sinister voice grunted with contempt "Itís only five million a piece. You can afford it. Youíll pay up or he dies." The voice became harder "Heíll die slowly, inch by inch, screaming in agony, Iíll send you the video."

"We need more time." Chris whispered scared now for his friends life.

"You are stalling."

"No, no, I wouldnít do that, please three days ... give us more time weíll pay just give us a little more time ...please" The panic showed in Chrisí tone. The phone went silent briefly and he could hear the slight rattle of steel. Then he heard JC.

"NO, NO, please ... Donít."

The founding member of Nsync closed his eyes blinking back his tears as he was forced to listen to his bandmates agonised screams. The phone crackled again as it was picked up.

"What ... did you ... do ?"

The disgusting voice laughed, cackling in a chorus with his associates, JCís gentle sobs echoed in the background.

"Lets just say JC wonít be writing ANYTHING for a while. You got five more days. One day for every finger I just broke. That give you eight days. You decide not to pay or you try to stall again, well you know the rest. Say goodbye to your friend sweetheart."

JC came back on the phone his pain was evident as he whispered a shaky goodbye. The line went dead. The oldest member of the group hid his face in a cushion and cried tears of sorrow and guilt for JC, guilt because he should be helping him, because he was letting him down. After five minutes he dried his eyes and called Lance telling him to bring the others and to look after Justin. Heíd had some news.

* * *

JC held his right hand to his chest, cradling it. His left hand had been fastened to a chain wound and padlocked round his waist. The pain was unbearable, They had made Chris listen as they smashed his hand with a hammer. When the call was ended he had been thrust back into his cell, his hand bloody and throbbing, he could feel the blood running down his arm and dripping onto his legs. He shivered, it was getting cold again. A smell of rich Chinese food wafted under the door making his belly growl in protest at having been left empty for so long. He tried not to hear them laughing at him, mimicking his cryís of pain, his pleas for mercy. He prayed silently that his bandmates would find his life worth 25 million bucks.



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