Justin, JC decided, would probably one day say the wrong thing to the wrong thug and get himself killed. They had just spent the last hour and forty five minutes at a Chicago radio station and every other word out of the younger man�s mouth had been street slang, spoken with a poor imitation of a Detroit accent, to boot. JC wondered if Justin knew he came off as a psuedo-ghetto prick 80% of the time, or if he truly had deluded himself into believing he was �cool�.

Turning his attention out the window, JC watched as the city passed by on the other side of the tinted glass. It was bustling and noisy and filled with other cars full of people blessedly unaware of the five superstars that traveled along the road in their midst.

The air in Chicago was the same as any other metropolis, filled with smog and exhaust and oppressive in the sense that one could never confuse the air in a city for the fresh, clean scent of a country field. With every breath, JC was reminded of what contributed to the dirty physical atmosphere in such places: people. He was unsure just when he had reached the conclusion that he did not much care for his fellow man, but the fact remained if JC had to choose between becoming a hermit living on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere, and maintaining the status quo of his present life? He�d end up growing old without seeing another soul and most likely begin talking to rocks and trees and the dust bunnies under his bed.

�I don�t know, what do you think JC?�

JC snapped out of his reverie and found Justin peering at him over the back of the seat. �Huh?�

�Chris� face appeared beside Justin�s and the older man rolled his eyes playfully, �Geez, JC. Pay attention. Curly asked what your thoughts were on our discussion.�

�Just tell Chris I�m right, Jace. Because I am.�

�Like hell you are!�

JC cleared his throat, �Um, before I answer, what is this all about?�

�That guy from the Ernest movies, like, Ernest Goes To Jail. Justin says the guy�s dead and Chris claims he saw him at an industry party not too long ago,� Joey�s voice wafted back from the front passenger seat. �So, answer them and maybe then they�ll shut up.�

�Oh, um. Well, I don�t really know. Sorry,� JC shrugged and turned back to the window. Justin�s brow furrowed.

�JC,� he sighed petulantly. �How come you�re so out of it? It�s starting to get annoying every time someone talks to you and you have to pull yourself out of the stratosphere to answer.�

�Justin,� came a soft warning from beside JC. �Leave him alone, okay?�

�But, Lance-�

�That Ernest guy? He passed away from lung cancer,� Lance told the younger man plyingly.

JC tore his gaze from the buildings outside and let his focus rest on the mild mannered southerner in the seat next to his own. As Justin turned back around in his seat, Lance gave JC a small smile. Ahead of them, Justin and Chris began to discuss the virtues of each Ernest movie with Joey joining in occasionally.

�Jace? Are you feeling okay?� Lance asked, his voice low so the others wouldn�t hear.

Faint surprise registered on JC�s features before he shrugged and said, �Yeah. Yeah, I�m fine.�

�Oh. Well, if you�re not fine, that�s okay too.�

�I know.�

�Because you�ve just been acting a little weird lately.�

�I�ve had some stuff on my mind, Lance.�

The blonde man appraised JC for several beats before nodding and staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. �Did he really die?� JC wondered aloud.

�Who? Vern, the Ernest guy? Yeah. Sad, huh?�

�Mmm. Natural causes, you said?�

Lance frowned, �Well, yeah. Basically.�

They were quiet for another moment. Then JC said, �I think I�d rather die a violent, unexpected death.�

�What?!� Lance�s peridot eyes widened in horror. �JC, how could you say such a thing?�

Justin turned around in his seat again. �Say what? What�d JC say?�

Lance was still processing JC�s comment, so the man himself faced Justin and said calmly, �I just mentioned that I�d rather die unexpectedly than wage a silent war against disease. That�s all.�

By now, the entire car had tuned into their conversation and Joey�s muttered, �that�s sick, man� could be heard throughout.

�Well,� Chris mused, �he�s got a point.�

�You forgot violent, JC,� Lance accused, recovering himself. �You said a �violent, unexpected death�. What does that mean? Like, murder?�

JC shrugged. �Yeah. Something like that.�

�What a fucking ridiculous thing to say, man,� Justin scoffed, disgusted but mildly intrigued. �You mean, you want some shithead to put a knife in your back or whatever?�

�No, I didn�t say I wanted any of that, I just said it would be better than going slowly, dying cell by cell. Quit putting words in my mouth.�

�Quick and merciful,� Chris mumbled. �Yeah, that could be okay.�

�Unless you get some sick fuck who�s like, a serial killer and into torture,� Joey interjected, only to be met with silence. �Or something.�

�Whatever,� Justin growled, sitting back down fully in his seat.

�I wonder how the guys on death row feel,� Chris said suddenly. �Like, they know they�re set to die, right? I wonder that�s like. I mean, talk about going slowly.�

�But at least the executions are over almost right after they start,� Joey said logically. �And don�t they mostly give people lethal injections nowadays?�

�Will you guys shut UP?� Justin whined. �You�re creepin� me out, yo.�

�Too bad they don�t let people go the way of Socrates, anymore,� JC sighed. �That would be the best way.�

Chris nodded sagely, while Lance hesitated before tugging on JC�s elbow. �C? What do you mean, Socrates?�

�He was sentenced to death, Poofu,� Chris provided before JC would say anything.

�How did they kill him?�

JC faced the window again. �They didn�t. He drank hemlock and killed himself.�

The bus was dark and the pitch blackness surrounded JC, making it nearly impossible to even see his palm as he held his hand up in front of his face. The air was stifling, hot and stagnant because JC had never known the South, Georgia in particular, to have cool nights; they were always humid and sticky and made his pajama pants cling to his legs like a second skin.

Having rolled out of his bunk without a thought of what he�d find to occupy himself until the sun got around to rising, JC was torn between scuffling into the kitchen or doing an about-face and heading toward the living area at the back of the bus. The former won out, scales being tipped in favor of the kitchen by the rumbling of his stomach.

JC didn�t have to turn on the tiny switch light over the sink to see the driver. The man piloting the great vehicle was silhouetted against the windshield by the lights of oncoming cars and sporadically placed street lamps. On the radio, Barry Mannilow crooned on about not being able to smile, and JC wondered just where the hell they were that the only decent signal the driver could pick up happened to be a station whose prime late night schedule consisted of �Barry Hour�.

Not being able to sleep was a bitch, JC thought morosely, having lain in his bunk for the better part of two hours, trying -and failing- to get to sleep. In days gone by, slumber had been JC�s own private means of retreat, the empty nothingness of his mind in limbo being more comforting than anything he had ever known. Yet, now, merely falling into a deep, always dreamless sleep had become as tedious as the work he did day in and day out. The novelty had worn off and JC�s wont to cat-nap had waned almost entirely. The fact of the matter was, the escape JC longed for could not be found on the blank, gray landscape of his subconscious, precisely because it was gray and blank.

He had tried everything he possibly could. Even reading books. For a while, JC had avidly devoured anything he could get his hands on: Joey�s collection of Grisham, Chris�s volumes of classics that he didn�t want anyone to know about lest they contradict his reputation, Justin�s comics and copy of �Spirituality: Get In Touch With the Essence of You�, and even Lance�s Bible. But nothing could satiate his thirst for another world, a visit to an alternate reality, because as soon as he read the words and experienced a particular book, he could never seem to recall the scenes with the same intensity as he had read them. So, when he sat in interviews or sang on stage and longed for a way to divert his subconscious from the fact that he was *doing* whatever it was he was doing, the books didn�t help. The same rush of feelings never returned as strongly as they had flowed when he he first read them, and JC was left without a special place to escape to during those times when he thought he just couldn�t take another second.

And somewhere in the midst of all of that, lurked the thoughts he wished he wouldn�t think. and a pair of bright, glassy green eyes that twinkled back at him and occasionally winked as they sparkled with secrets JC would�ve given anything to know.

�Arg, fuck!� JC yelped, and leapt back from the counter as the knife he�d been holding clattered onto the breadboard.

�You okay back there?� the driver called over his shoulder, voice tired but also clearly concerned.

JC stood dumbfounded as his gaze skipped back and forth from the crimson edged cutlery to the slice of flesh he�d cut open on his index finger. A stream of thick red blood formed along the wound, and one fat red drop slid down the length of his finger.

�Hey, man. Want me to pull over?�

�No,� JC whispered, then said again loudly, �No. I�m fine, just hurt myself trying to cut this salami.�

The driver seemed mollified, and returned his attention to the road, turning up the volume on Barry Mannilow again. JC continued to study the steady dribble of blood as it forged a path down across his palm, following the crease of his life line. Thinking vaguely that he should clean the wound, JC held his hand over the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. Raptly, he watched the trickle of water turn pink as it washed away the blood.

Strangely, the cut hadn�t hurt very much. His reaction had more to do with the fact that he had accidentally *cut* himself, and less to do with the fact that he was bleeding from a self inflicted wound. It was an instinctive reaction, one borne of too many maternal stories of poor souls who�d lost their own fingers to careless actions.

Bringing his hand up for closer inspection, JC�s brow furrowed as he watched blood collect anew. If he let it be, he knew it would soon coagulate and a large band aid would probably be the extent of first aid required. But something inside him was bizarrely fascinated. He liked watching the plasma gather on his skin.

Tentatively, JC touched his tongue to the wound. Iron and salt attacked his taste buds and, once accustomed to the flavor, he lapped at it a bit more. Closing his eyes, a surge of adrenaline spurted through his veins as he continued to lick at the cut, taking the blood as fast as it would come.

�JC?�

JC yanked his finger from his mouth and spun on his heel to face Joey. This was the second time in nearly as many nights that Joey had caught JC up to something. JC wondered if his thundering heart could be heard by anyone but himself. Why was he so agitated, anyway? It�s not as if he�d been doing anything wrong. Still, JC wondered why it felt like it had that time in Germany when Justin had walked in on him jerking off in the bathroom.

When JC continued to stare at him dumbly, Joey cleared his throat. �Jace? I thought I heard something, and then I saw the light,� he gestured to the electric panel above the counter, on the underside of the cupboard. �Everything alright?�

�Oh. Yeah, definitely. I was just, like, getting myself something to eat. Midnight snack, you know.�

Joey�s mouth curved in a half smile. �Guess I�m not the only one who likes to raid the �fridge. Got enough for two?�

JC pasted a smile on his face. �Yeah, absolutely.� Without regard for the slight pang of pain it caused, JC made certain to tuck his index finger into his fist, against his palm. For some inexplicable reason, he didn�t want Joey to have any inkling of what he�d just experienced. The matter seemed intensely personal and deep inside, JC reveled in the feeling of rebellion and self empowerment that plucked at his insides like the tune to a secret harp.

�Great,� Joey flashed his patent grin and scratched his scalp as he yawned with residual sleepiness. �So, I�m going to go to the bathroom real quick, but then I�ll be back to eat, okay?�

JC glanced at the cutting board. �Sure, whatever.�

The time it took Joey to relieve himself would be just long enough for JC to wash the blood off the blade of the knife.