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Randy held his head for a moment and leaned up against the brick wall for support. He didn't know what had come over him. He'd never felt anything like it. His whole head was on fire, like it was slowly being burnt from the inside out. The pain was quickly overpowered by the feel of stares on his back. Turning around, his eyes met with those of Jessie and Dave, two of his best friends for as long as he could remember. The worry in their looks made him quiver, and he turned away as soon as he felt that maybe someone would ask questions. He began to walk again, hoping that they'd dismiss it as one of his 'weird' moments. But then something snapped in his brain: He'd never had any weird moments. He couldn't figure out where the thought had come from, so he kept walking, trying to get home. Jessie sent Dave a worried glance, then ran to catch up with her retreating friend.
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When Randy reached the door, he practically pulled himself through. Stumbling over to the couch, there was a quiet thud as he fell back on it.
Dave's head peeked through the still open doorway. He sighed at his friend's form, then looked down at the young bottle-blonde standing next to him. "So...?" Jessie urged, worried.
"I honestly don't know. He's never acted like this," Dave thought for a moment. "Has he told you anything? About maybe taking something?"
"David!" The young blonde sent him an annoyed look, "How dare you even think that! Randy... We've know him since we was kids. He would tell us. You know that."
"Yeah, I know... But sometimes, I wonder."
"Don't wonder, it gets you in trouble," she smiled, then tugged gently on his arm. "Lets go home. Maybe he'll sleep it all off. We'll come back and see if he's got a hangover in the morning, 'kay?"
"I guess."
Dave let himself be pulled along by the girl, but not before closing the door. He didn't want any of Randy's stuff stolen on their neglegance. Plus, the dark-haired boy was the only one on the block with a Sega system. He didn't want to loose that, either.
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There was a loud knock at the door. Then another and another. To the young man lying on the couch, it was like thunder going off right in his brain. Running a hand throuh his straight, dark-brown hair, Randy forced himself out of bed, willing to sacrifice sleep to end the loud bangs.
The door flew open. "Who are you and what the Hell do you want?" He practically growled.
"Gotta love your nice personality, Rand-mah-man," Jessie shoved him out of the way to gain access to the inside of his apartment. "Remind me to never act concerned for you when you first wake up."
"Jess- ? What the- ?"
"Man, move it," Dave litterally picked him up and set him aside to come into the room. "We were concerned for you. Last night, you know. You weren't acting all that well, so we came to see if you'd just gotten drunk or if there was something really wrong with ya'."
Randy sighed heavily. He had no bit of mind to tell them about the previous night, nor did he think there was any way they could make him. It wasn't just the headache that had hit him, it was other things, too. Small bits and peices of things. Like a scrapbook that was disorganized beyond belief. Some were faces, some were sayings, some were familiar voices that he felt he should know, but couldn't place. Some was beautiful music. Others were beautiful women. But in a way, it all made sense to a small, far off part of his mind. That same part that seemed to be yelling and screaming at him, telling him to get away from these strangers. These strangers that he had known since 2nd grade.
"No," he said firmly, "there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. It was just... A migrane. Just a little sinus thing. No need to get all huffy about it. If there's was something really wrong with me, I'd know."
"We know you'd know, Rand," Jessie said soothingly, "but it's another matter if you'd tell us or not." Randy snorted and turned to face out the window, squinting at the light that poured in. "Come on, you can tell us. We've been a team forever. Ever since we wuz lil' things. Lil' biddy things that ate crayons and thought Barney was a great TV show."
The boy chuckled slightly, showing the smallest hints of a smile on his face. "Yeah," he said softly, "ever since we wuz lil' biddy things." Then he turned back, his eyes cold. "But we ain't lil' biddy things any more. We're adults now, and..."
"And what?" Dave pushed, growing more concered about where the conversation was going.
"And things change. I can't explain it, but... That thing last night? It was something really whacked out. I can't explain it, but somehow I feel like this isn't my life anymore."
Jessie guided him back to a big overstuffed chair and helped him into it. He was shaking, there was no doubt in either of their minds that it was stress. They knew how tough high school must be on Randy, living alone because his parents got called off to other countries so much. When they were all younger, it had been so cool. Randy's parents were these big, high-on people working for the goverment. But as they all got older, the signs began to show. He was the only one without a parent at the field trips, he was the only one that never showed up at parent-teacher conferences. It took its toll. They guessed he'd finally cracked. An arch can only take so much before coming down on itself.
"I think you should see someone," Dave suggested, kneeling down to be on his friend's level. In a way, Dave was releaved that it wasn't an addiction problem, in another way, he was worried out of his skull. Randy was like a brother to him, he didn't want that bond to be severed so quickly over a small headache.
"Someone as in a shrink," Randy screwed up his nose in distaste. "No. I will not see no damn shrink just because you think I'm going crazy! I'm not going whacked! I am perfectly fine! Look, see?" He touched his nose with one hand, then the other, then put his two pointer fingers together in front of his face. "One-hundred percent good. No functional problems, no mental problems. I'm fine," he gave them a dead-serious glare.
Both people looked at eachother, then grabbed Randy by the arms.
"Let me go...!"
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All three turned their heads to look at the sign on the door. Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick, Phyciatrist. And then laughed at the small writing below it done in permenant marker: Head-Shrinker. Walking into the waiting room, they were greeted by a red-head teenager filing her nails.
"Name?" She asked in a shrill New York accent.
Randy looked back worridly at his friends, who both pushed him foreward. "Uh, Justin Randall Timberlake. I'm here for the 3:30," he tried to give her a small smile, only to find her compleatly ignoring him.
"Yeah," she popped her gum, "we got ya' on here. Not that you're gonna get in on time. The Doc's last guy's a real head-case. Name's Cooter or Carther or somethin' like that. Thinks he can end the world by killing himself. For all I care, he can go for it."
Jessie raised an eyebrow. "Arn't you supposed to tell people not to pull the trigger?" She asked sarcastically, obviously quite annoyed.
"Y'eh. They only pay me to tell four people a week. I'm saving my last one for the cute guy that has the 5:30."
Dave rolled his eyes, then burried his nose in one of the magazines that seem to always be strewn around waiting rooms. It was a real good choice, too. 'History of the Gun'.
It was more than a half hour before a shakey young blonde man walked out of the office. He looked pale and malnourished, and probably hadn't taken a bath in about a week. Randy pitied him, but guessed that most of the people that went there were in better shape. Grabbing his jacket, he gave a small helpless smile to Jessie and Dave, then walked through the frosted-glass door.
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Randy looked around the room, noting the plants, the books, and the record player siting next to the far wall. He looked everywhere but at the man behind the oak-wood desk, trying not to think of where he was. He hated the thought that maybe he was loosing it. He had always been so together, but now... Now he wasn't so sure of anything anymore.
When he finally decided to look at the man he had payed a good sum to see, it was deja vu. He knew that face. Even if it wasn't an exact match on the hair style or clothes, but he knew the face. Then the man looked up and Randy turned away, embarressed. He hated to be caught staring, but he noticed the other man was doing the same thing. Shaking everything off, he extended his hand, "Hello, my name is Randy Timberlake."
"Christopher Kirkpatrick," he took the younger man's hand. "Seeing as how you're my patient, you can call me Doc or Doc Chris or just make somethin' up. Although I gotta ask you... Have we met before?"
Randy wasn't listening. He could feel the headache coming again. The pain was there, but this time there were images of the 'Doc'. But then again, it really wasn't him. Everything was different. His mind wandered away from everything he knew.
"Hello?"
A hand waved in his face, snapping him out of his trance. "Wha- ? Oh, no, we've never met. I'm sure."
Christopher took off his glasses and cleaned them, then set them back on his head. "Well, either way, always good to meet new people."
"Yeah..." His mind was still reeling from the pain, but he was coherent enough to know what was going on.
"So, why don't you take a seat and tell me what's wrong?"
The younger man obliged, sitting down on the bed-thing that pshyciatrists pass for couch. He finally got a good look at Christopher, making sure that the images in his mind didn't blur anything. He was short compared to Randy, but then again, Randy was taller than most. He had dark brown hair that fell in his face as much as it framed it, and a small bit of fuzz on his chin. He was dressed quite casually for a 'shrink'; a blue t-shirt with jeans and old beat-up sneakers that looked like they'd fall apart any moment.
"Well..." He began, unsure of how to start.
"Say anything you want. It doesn't have to be in order. But you might want to tell me about yourself and go from there."
"My name is Justin Randall Timberlake. I was born in Tennesse, but I moved out here to Florida to go to high school, seeing as how my best friends are out here, too. My parents were never really arou-, " he stopped as Christopher began scribbling on a notepad. "That's kind of annoying, you know," he didn't care how rude he sounded. He didn't like it there and didn't care who else knew about his thoughts.
"I'm sorry, but I need to record everything so we can trace your troubles back to a certain spot."
Randy rolled his eyes, but continued anyway, "They were never really around because they worked. I didn't see any problems with it, still don't, as a matter of fact. But that's not the reason I'm here."
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"I've been having these... flashes." When the older man gave him a curious look, he continued, "It's like seeing the future, only, a 'what if' version of it. And it's always there with some major headache..." He shook his head, "Aw, now you think I'm a nutcase!"
"No, I can't think anyone's a nutcase. If I did, why would I be here?"
"To tell people to get commited."
The older man sighed, "I don't tell people to get commited unless they are truley mentally ill. You, so far, are of no danger to anyone." He adjusted his glasses, "Now why don't you tell me about the 'flashes'."
"Well... I can never really make sense of them except maybe one or two recgonizable words that I know I've never heard before but I understand them anyway. Maybe some music and a basic tune, or people... But the people are just there for a second and then gone again. Or they stay in my memory, but their faces are never there. I wish I knew what was going on!"
"It sounds like you have amnisia."
"WHAT?!"
"Calm down. Now look, people who have had a serious accident or traumatic incident sometimes try to forget the time-"
"You don't get it! I remember everything! I could tell you my life story in detail enough that'd you'd be able to write a novel. I am not missing any part of my memory. There are no gaps," Randy couldn't believe what he was being told. He knew his life. Didn't he...? "Wait a minute," he chuckled, "just ask Jessie and Dave. They know me. They've known me forever. They can tell you wether or not I have amnisia."
Then the world seemed to freeze. His mind began to burn, the pain shot down his spine. The images came again, this time stronger than he could have thought possible. Many of them were of himself. He was different, but it was still him. He had curls that formed into an unruly afro on his head, bleached blonde. Baggy, but expensive clothes. And jewlery, lots of jewlery. There were girls, too. Hundreds of them. All packed together, jumping to a tune that he couldn't name. He was dancing along with them. The necklace he wore coming up and hiting his shoulder every so often. He saw Christopher with long dredlocks dancing beside him, the dreds tied down so they wouldn't flop. There were three other men that he couldn't make out. They were off to the other side of the stage. Only then did he realize that he was on stage and the people down below were watching. Then another image came into veiw. Flashes went off in his face. They were bright as day and twice as annoying. Camera flashes, he realised. He was blind! Everything around him was white. So he did the only thing he could. He ran.
"Mr. Timberlake! Mr. Timberlake, stop!"
Ignoring the psyciatrist's calls, he jumped up, grabbed his jacket, and shot out the door.
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The planes' engines sputtered, then powered up to full as it taxied along the runway. As the wheels left the ground, Randy found himself wondering just what had made him run. Not from the Shrink's office, but from Florida itself. And why he had chosen New York. He told himself that it was crowded and he could become lost so easily. That no-one could find him in the vast populous. But he knew there was another reason. He couldn't place it, but there was another reason why New York sounded so tempting.
He began to think of Dave and Jessie and how worried they'd be when he didn't come back. He hadn't taken enough of his belongings to make a difference in outside appearance, so they wouldn't know he'd left the city, much less the state. The only things he'd brought were a pair of jeans and two shirts, plus the ones he was wearing. Not much to get by on, but something in the back of his mind told him not to worry. Something told him there was a place to go where he'd be safe.
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The music blared in the dim of the club. People swayed to the music, crowding their way on the dance floor. Everything was a mass of bodies and movement, but Randy wasn't seeing them. He was seeing a brightly lit area with white tablecloths and expensive dinnerware. Everything that could have been silver or gold plated was. There was a light perfume that hung in the air, making everything smell sweet. It looked so familiar to him.
He was thrown out of his thoughts when he felt someone ram into him. He ended up on the floor, a large man laying beside him. Looking up, the dark-haired boy was suddenly intimidated by three huge bouncers.
The tallest one, an Austrian-body-builder type, grimaced down at Randy. "Boy, get out of our way. We have to deal with this one. He does not pay his bills. Do not make the same mistake as him," the he pointed at the man that was coming to next to the 'boy'.
When Randy looked over, he got a good look at the man that the three bouncers seemed to hate. He was a good bit broader-chested, taller, and slightly older than the Florida native. He had a round face, deep brown eyes, and one ear peirced.
Something snapped. Before the younger man knew what he was doing, he had pulled a hundred out of his pocket and shoved it in the three's faces. "That should cover part of his bill, right?"
The Austrian-guy looked down at the large bill, then accepted it, smiling, "Yes, I suppose it will... For now." He looked back at his intended target, "Next time, Joseph, your friends will not be here to get you out of trouble. I suggest you savor your freedom while it lasts." And with that, they walked off, dissapearing into the crowd of moving bodies.
The man, Joseph, Randy guessed, got up and looked straight at him. "Uhhh... Thanks. I guess." The older man looked at him as if he were trying to place him from somewhere. The boy half expected him to ask if he knew him from somewhere, instead coming up with a much more serious sounding, "Do I owe you something?"
Randy laughed slightly, "Naw, you don't owe me nothin'."
"Then why pay that off? Those goons 'ive been after me for a good while. It's just not like anyone to pay off a guy's debt for no reason. Especially a stranger..."
"You looked like you needed help. I don't even know why I did it, so don't get all," he made an odd high-pitched sound, "on me." He hadn't meant to take offence, but if this man couldn't accept help then it was better off that way.
"Oh. I guess I shouldn't. Gift horse an' all. But that's still, I mean... You help me and I don't even know who you are."
The younger man stuck out his hand, "Randy."
Shaking it, Joseph gave him a skeptical eye, "No last name?"
"Why give one? I left my last name back home. And, so far, I don't even know if it's my real one anyway."
"So where's home?"
Both men walked over to a table.
"Few years ago it would have been Tennesse. The past two years its been Florida. Now... I guess New York."
Jospeh gave him a slightly stupid grin, "New York is a hard place to live. Only things with really small brains or lots of money live here. Sometimes both."
"Yeah," Randy chuckled, "but I guess if you wanna hide, it's the best place in the world."
"You might think that. But with so many people, there's so many more to watch you. You might get lost in the crowd, but you never know how many little spy cameras there are in there. And in the most uncomfortable places!"
They both began laughing.
"So, anyway... You got a place to stay? I don't mean that in a- er... But, I mean, you did bail me out back there and, well..."
"You want me to stay with you?"
"But, I mean, do you? Cuz if you don't have a place you can crash with me."
The younger man thought this over, "Okay. But I do snore and occasionally get very evil if I don't have coffee in the morning."
"No prob," he held up his hands, "I snore, plus there's a Miccy D's across the street. No-troubles, no worries."
"No worries," Randy smiled.
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God, man, you've been away for four days and already you're homesick. Wussy, wussy, wussy... Florida seemed so distant. Not just miles, but whole galaxies. To Randy, it was as if the sunny state was entirely off-limits to him forever. Going crazy, he thought, livin' out a dream with no-where to run. He glanced over a Joseph, who had given up his bed for the brown-haired boy and was sleeping on the couch across the room. Make new friends, you're gonna leave 'em. Jessie and David were there since the beginning. You left. What makes you think you'll do any better with a stranger? Can't make friends. Friends will ask questions. Questions lead to answers or more running. And you know there are no answers.
As if on cue, the pain started up and his mind was flooded with images. It had happened almost daily. Just when it seemed to have been gone, the pain would come again and again. So far, he had figured out that it was someone else's life he was seeing. A future or a past, he didn't know. But a life is too vast to peice together with just a few bits here and there. It was still muddled. And he was scared. He didn't want to know about the flashes, he only wanted them to stop.
In the brief five or six minutes that they usually lasted, Randy felt like he'd lives several lifetimes. He didn't mind the women in the flashes as much as the pain, which took several Tylenol to go away. Most were young, girls even, but others were about his age. They came in all shapes and sizes. Every nationality and dress. It made him wonder about this 'alternate life'. He knew it wasn't his, it couldn't be. Small-town kids who hung around with the so-called 'geeks' of the school very rarely got high on any social meter. And if you weren't high on that, you were nobody. So the carreer that he had been witnessing was out of the question.
Shaking his head, he layed back just as Joseph tumbled in, half asleep and looking quite happy.
"Nice dreams, I take it?"
The older man looked confused for a second, then grinned goofily and was suddenly very awake. "Oh, yeah. All these women screaming at me like I was a rock star or somethin'. And you were there, too... Only you had blonde hair... Anyway, so there was thousands of women-"
"Hold it."
He stopped.
"Were we, like, on a stage?"
Joseph nodded.
"And who else was there?"
"Well... There was this funky guy with braids and this, damn, I am sure he was an albino, and this other guy with a bowl-cut. And we were dancing."
"Christopher..." Randy looked dazed for a second, but regained his composure, "Do you know their names?"
"No... Mostly I was paying attention to the women," he confessed, grinning slightly, "but I remember having this urge to call you, what was it? Jason?"
"Justin. My first name is Justin. But you shouldn't even know that."
The older man thought for a moment, "Woah, you're right. You never told me your full name. Freaky." Another thought popped up. "Hey, how'd you know all this?"
"I've been having the same type of dreams. Only without the fortune of having them while I'm asleep, thank you very much."
Joseph raised an eyebrow. "Well," he stated, "this is... weird."
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"Rock stars..." Joseph's mind was reeling. All the information was just thrown at him. It was too much. "We are- uh, were -rock stars."
Randy laughed. He'd told the older man every bit of the dreams he'd remembered, then, after a few hours, they'd pieced into a very loose timeline. It was starting to make sense. Not that anyone cared to tell them that.
"Yeah, pretty cool, Joey."
"Joey?" Joseph looked stunned for a minute, "Only my mom called me Joey." Randy looked embarressed for a second, so he ammended, "But it's okay. I think I like it. Joseph is such a stuck-up name anyway."
The younger brunette grinned like an idiot, but was sober when he looked back at his friend, "So, if we were these big-time singers or whatever, what about the other guys? I mean, they'd have to be somewhere, too. They got some kind of right to know what's going on."
"We don't even know what's going on."
"Well," he began, but then looked doubtful about what he was going to say, "I- I guess they should be having the same flashes that we are... Only different ones. And those could tell us something we don't know. Then it'll be easier explaining things."
"So, oh fearless leader, where do we find these guys?"
Randy thought for a moment. He couldn't go back to Florida to get Christopher without seeing someone he knew. So he went with the first place that came to mind, "Laurrel, Mississippi."
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"Oooo! Peanuts!" Joey grabbed at the salty airline-food, his hand nearly hitting Randy in the face.
"Watch it, you Super-Freak!" He didn't know where the insult had spawned from, but he dismissed it. Joey obviously hadn't heard, because he'd managed to stuff the entire bag of peanuts into his mouth.
"Mfmm fmrmm?" The older man offered another package to him, but his waved his hand, telling him no.
The younger man rolled his eyes, finally closing them and laying his head back on the head rest. The information that he wasn't, in fact, crazy was a relief. But somehow, having to share that same information with a guy who thought that airline food was acctually good was something Randy was adjusting to. There was also the fact that he had to convince three other men that they was a famous rock-group from another life... That was not mentioned in the handbook.
Turning his head to one side, he slowly opened his eyes. Only to see Joey... With five more bags of those little peanuts and a couple big pretzels. Randy groaned heavily, finally realizing that flying to Mississippi was a long way.
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"So we're going to find who now?" Joey gave his friend a far-more-than-confused look that made his eyebrows almost touch his hairline.
"James Lance Bass."
"We're looking for a fish?"
Randy rolled his eyes, but kept them on the road, trying to explain things to Joey and drive at the same time. "No, idget, that's his name," he glanced sideways at the older man, "If my 'memories' serve me correctly, which I'm hoping they do in this wacked-up world, he should live somewhere in this area." He made a slight hand motion to the outside world.
"Ah..."
Taking the car upto a gas station, and praying that the 'small-town-everyone-knows-everyone' sereotype was true, he got out and walked upto the atendant.
"Hi'ya," he grinned and leaned in on the counter, "I'm looking for someone and I'm hoping you know where they live."
The young, short, red-haired boy behind the counter looked up at Randy, obviously quite annoyed, "Do I look like a phone book to you?"
"They were unlisted," the brunette lied. He hadn't even thought of looking in the phone book, but then remembered that none of the phone booths there had phone books. Guess everyone really did know everyone. "James Lance Bass? Mother's Dianne Bass. D'you know 'em?"
The kid behind the counter perked up, "Yeah, yeah! His mom taught me for awhile." The boy then took out a bit of paper and scribbled down an adress. Handing it to him, he grinned, "You two friends or something?"
"Yeah. Friends," Randy grabbed the paper, waved to the kid, then turned and left. Coming back to the car, he was met with Joey's whines.
"You didn't get me nothin'?"
Randy growled something unintellegable, then started up the engine.
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"This doesn't look familiar... What about you?"
Joey popped a Skittle in his mouth, "Not really. But I wouldn't know. You've been having those flashes longer than me, so if you don't know, not much chance I would." He held up the candy bag to look inside. "'Sides, I'm just along for the ride," he said, examining the last green Skittle with distaste.
Randy snatched the candy from Joey and ate it, "You may be along for the ride, but you're the only other guy who knows about this. That means you're helping." He motioned out twords the ranch they'd come to, "And if this is where he lives in this wacky world we're in, this is where we go." The younger man grabbed Joey by the shirt sleeve, "Now c'mon."
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Randy pulled his hand up and knocked lightly on the door. A middle aged dark haired woman answered. Randy's brain went on automatic, "Hello, Mrs. Bass. I'm here looking for your son."
"Oh, you mean Jim?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled sweetly, "Come right in, boys. I'll go get him."
As she walked away, Joey gave his friend a look.
"What if he isn't the guy you're looking for?"
Randy shrugged, "We'll know when we see him."
As if on cue, Mrs. Bass returned with a boy in tow. He was average hight, a little skinny, but otherwise normal. He too had dark brown hair, combed back and over. He was pale for someone who obviously got enough sun, and when he looked up, he revealed emerald green eyes.
"Jim this is- Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."
Randy stuck out his hand, "Justin."
"Joey," he also offered his hand.
Mrs. Bass shook them, then grinned at her son, "Well, I'll leave you alone with your friends. Play nice, boys."
When he was sure she had left, Jim turned to face them, "Y'know, if y'all keep staring like that, your eyes'll stay that way."
Randy looked at him, "Lanceten?"
"Yes...?"
Joey gawked, "You know? I mean, about all this?"
Jim laughed, "I know who you are, I know this place is obviously very messed up, and I know that we're missing an 'S' and a 'C'."
"Great, he knows more than we do," Randy motioned to Jim.
"Appearently. But y'all wouldn't have come all the way here if you didn't think I knew something, right?"
Joey nodded, "Yup. Now are you gonna fill us in, or let us be clueless forever?"
Jim looked deep in thought for a moment, "Well..."
Randy glared at him, "Now, Poo-Foo."
"Well, not all of your memory's gone, at least. I just wish it wasn't that part..." He shook his head, laughing. "Okay, I'll start off from the beginning."
"General idea here," the younger man snorted.
Jim ignored him, "First off, you ever call me 'Poo-Foo' again, anti-Brillo-head, I won't be responsible for my actions. Now as far as what's going on, I'm gonna bet I was just about as clueless as you guys upto a week ago. I was having major migranes-"
Joey smirked, "I didn't mind the women."
"-and weird image-things. Then, I really don't know what happened, but it all came back. And I realised something: This wasn't my life. My life was touring with you guys. I tried getting away, but my parents caught me trying to sneak out. It was kind of dumb trying to get to Florida, anyway. A teenager can't just get up and leave. Which begs to ask why you're here, Justin."
Randy shrugged, "My parents arn't always there. A bird's gotta leave the nest sometime, I suppose."
"Ahh..." Lance rubbed his chin, "Well, I guess it'll hit you guys in a few days, too. Just you better be ready. Damn thing hurts. More than just a migrane."
"It'll... just come to us?"
"Seems that way, Joey. By the way, good to see you guys. I guess it's just a matter of days before you're your old selves again. Then we can find out what's really going on."
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"This is where the party's at!"
"C'mon now! Everybody! Lemmie see ya!"
"This is where the party's at!"
"Party party party!"
Lance stuck his head out the window, "SHUT UP!" Both men stopped singing. "God, I said it'd all come back to you, but not your obnoixiousness, too..."
Randy hit his chest, "Justin Timb'ahlake is back!"
Lance looked over and saw Joey decked-out in Superman gear, "Oh goodie. Superman and Ghetto-Boy. The world would just collapse without the two of you." He smiled down at them, "I'll be right out."
A few minutes later, Lance came out the front door. "So... I take it you know who you are now."
"Yup, yup, yup!" Joey grinned stupidly, then took off his blue hat. He'd dyed his hair red. Again. "Well," he jerked his head, "if we're not famous, at least I still wanna get noticed."
Justin snickered, "Translation from Bronx-Italian: 'I want girls to notice me so I'll get some!' ...Ow!"
Lance rolled his eyes, "Hold up. I was thinking about something last night. I was happy when you guys came, but now... We have lives here, guys. What happens after we've seen the other guys. They come, we get back together... What happens to our lives that we have? What happened to our other lives?"
Joey sighed, "I guess we can't get N SYNC back together. I mean, we all know it was great, but- I mean, you know how our life was. Getting mobbed at every street. I like just being a normal guy now. It's kinda... good. It's right."
Justin flicked the redhead on the back of the neck, "You? Normal? Ha!"
Joey ignored him, "I don't think we should get the other guys. Let them be normal for once." He looked at Lance, "I think we should let JC and Chris just live out normal lives."
"They have a right to know who they are, Joe. Like it or not, we're going to have to tell them."
Justin's face fell, "We don't even know where Jace is. I know where Chris is, but- I can't go back there."
"I know where JC is," Lance looked up, "the first thing I did when my memories returned was look up where y'all lived. Believe it or not, he's FBI."
"FBI? As in X-Files and aliens FBI?"
Lance laughed at the younger man's confusion, "Yup. That kind of FBI."
Joey scratched his head, then put his hat back on, "Well, I guess we could go. Money might be a problem, though. And you getting away from your parents."
"Don't worry about me, I'll get away. And as far as money, I had been saving up for a Sega, but I think this is way more important. As long as I hide my suitcase under my bed, they'll never know. They're gonna kill me when I get back, but now, heh."
Joey sighed, "I don't like it, but you're right, Lance. They should know. I'll go with you."
"Yeah," Justin grinned slightly, "count me in. Let's go find Jace!"
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"I cannot believe I did that."
"Hmm?" Joey turned to look at Lance.
"Ran away. I can't believe I acctually ran away," his green eyes stared straight ahead at the seat in front of him.
"What happened to Mr. Self-confidence?" Justin popped inbetween their seats. "Look, Poo-Foo, we gotta go tell Jace... and Chris. And we have to do it in person. Who the Hell's gonna believe a letter that says: 'You were a rock star in another dimention!'?"
Lance laughed, "Alright, alright. But you guys better help me come up with a damned good excuse for my parents."
Justin grinned and layed back in his chair. He was happy for once. They were going to find JC, and there would be one more person to prove he wasn't crazy to Jess and Dave. He felt bad for not calling them, at least to tell them he was okay. He would have to go see them when they went after Chris. He mentally kicked himself for making them worry as much as they probably were. In a way, though, he felt some pride in knowing he wasn't, in fact, crazy. Just off living a life no one else knows about except you, an albino, and a guy who eats airline peanuts. You're soooo screwed.
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When they arrived at the airport, Lance went off in the direction of the payphones. "Calling Mom," he mouthed. Justin gave him a thumbs up, then went off to find Joey. The redhead was in the center of a group of women. Flirting, Justin chuckled.
Lance came up beside the younger man a few minutes later. "Well," he said with a grin, "looks like the ladies love him."
Justin snorted, "Naw, he's just persistant."
"Yeah, well, persistant or not, we'd better get going. Chances are my mom will have posted 'missing' on milk cartons already."
"I thought you just called her."
"I did. I left a message on the machine, told her I was okay, but not much else. So we'd better go. I'll go pry him away..." Lance walked over to Joey and pulled him away by the earring.
"Owowowowow... I don't remember you being that mean on tour, Lanceten."
"On tour I never had any free time to be mean," he smirked. "Now come on, we've got a Chasez to find!"
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Justin didn't mind the walking so much, he didn't get tired fast. It was the fact that no one even gave him a second glace that unnerved him. He was so used to getting noticed by fans and by regular people. It wasn't right in his mind. It made him feel small for some reason. But in a way it was comforting. Like Joey had said, they were just normal guys now. Nothing special.
It reminded him of when they'd first started. Just across the Atlantic, they were known everywhere. No one hadn't heard of N SYNC. They were chased and mobbed by fans at every corner. Then, a four hour plane trip back home, and no one could care less about them. They weren't important to anyone. They were normal. He'd thought it was so cool. If he wanted to be loved, he'd go to England or Germany and perform, and if he needed a break from it, he'd hop a jet to the US. Like going through an episode of Sliders.
Now, there was no media. No tabloids or rumors about him and Britney. No Eminem dissing them because they just happened to get better press than he did. And, he realised, no stupid teenies. And, luckily for Justin, there had also never been a Mickey Mouse Club in this reality. He tanked God for that simple fact. He truley was normal. They were just three guys walking down the street, enjoying life.
"Hey, J! Look!" Joey grabbed his younger friend by the arm and pointed down the street. About a block away, there were a couple men in suits and a few more in common dress that still looked important.
"You think he's over there?" Lance motioned to the men.
"Maybe. And it doesn't hurt going to look, right?"
"You're evil."
"That I am, Lance. That I am. Now c'mon."