Chapter 2: Every Second Tuesday
(The Boys are back in town)

"One ratty old blanket and a pair of burlap sacks stuffed with garbage." Lance lifted haunted eyes from his mug of chamomile tea and licked his dry lips slowly. "Three men died tonight, for.... For nothing. For a ratty old blanket and...."

He cut himself off, taking large gulp of his tea. Some of the liquid sloshed over the sides of the mug.

"We'll call Welsh first thing in the morning," Chris said quietly, looking out the kitchen windows at the dark and deserted streets outside. "And we've got to call Backstreet as well. Justin, can you make the call? Talk to Kevin. They need to know, no matter what's going on in their world. This is.... It was bad enough before, but now we know for sure that these two are dangerous to everybody, not just to the people who created them. We've got to find them, fast, before anyone else dies."

Lance put down his empty mug and shivered, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders with shaky hands.

"You want more?" JC asked quietly, already standing up.

Lance nodded almost desperately, and JC took the mug to the counter to refill it. Joey pulled his chair closer to Lance's and gathered him into a tight hug, rubbing his back gently. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Scoop," he said sincerely.

"I didn't see enough," Lance countered grimly. "I don't know where they are, or where they're planning to go. I could see the... the murders... as clearly as if they were happening right in front of me, but nothing else. I couldn't pinpoint them."

"It's okay, man." Justin assured him, lifting his head from his folded arms. "You saw more than enough, I think. Even if the cops don't know about the murders last night yet, they will soon. Once they find the... bodies... the clones won't be far away."

"Exactly," Chris nodded, turning away from the windows and addressing them all. "In the morning we'll talk to Welsh and Marks and get over to that lab to have a look around. You'll probably pick up some clues there, Lance, that'll help us figure out how we're gonna do this. In the meantime, it's ass o'clock in the morning and we're gonna have a long day tomorrow, so we'd better try to get some sleep. Justin, which room has the biggest bed?

"Huh?" Justin wrinkled his nose, confused. "Mine. Why?"

"Because we're all gonna sleep in it, that's why. Let's go. Lance, take your tea with you."

~*~

"You know," JC said, looking up from his cup of coffee and blinking sleepy blue eyes, "I hope I never get an interviewer who asks me what's my favorite position to sleep in."

Joey looked around the kitchen table at the others, meeting three other pairs of puzzled eyes. "Okay, I'll bite," he said. "Why?"

"Because," JC answered, yawning widely. "My favorite sleeping position is crammed into a king-sized bed with the four of you."

"Oh." Joey's face stretched out into a large, somewhat silly grin. Two pink spots appeared high on Lance's cheeks.

"Emperor," Justin said.

"Huh?" was Chris's intelligent reply.

Justin had the good grace to blush. "It's not king-sized, it's emperor-sized. I had it specially made."

"You... have... got... to be... kidding... me," Chris said.

"What?" Justin clutched his coffee cup defensively. "I've got long legs! And I like to stretch out, yo!"

Lance, who had finally stopped shivering at around 4 o'clock that morning, stood abruptly and turned to dump the remainder of his coffee into the sink. "We need to make those calls," he said, grimly. "Now."

JC went a little pale. "Is.... Did something happen?"

"Three men died last night, isn't that enough?" Lance snapped, then slumped against the counter, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm sorry. Sorry. No. Nothing else happened, I just.... Let's just call, alright?"

JC nodded, his eyes sad. "Okay, Lance. It's okay."

"Sorry," Lance mumbled again.

Justin stood and picked up the phone.

~*~

The destroyed research facility was in a semi-rural area not far from Chris's old home town of Dayton, Ohio. The two groups had decided collectively to take the BSB jet rather than relying on Joey and JC to shuttle everyone there. It would have been faster in the end to let them do it, but the plane ride gave everyone time to reflect.

The Backstreet Boys used the time to read the case files and process all of the information. Chris, as the only one besides the FBI agents themselves who was completely familiar with the material, made himself available to answer as many of their questions as he could. Lance, too, might have been of some help, but he was still shaken from his vision and spent the flight staring out of the window, sipping on a small glass of vodka, lost in thought. JC sat with him, providing a steady backdrop of constant, meaningless chatter, while Joey and Justin did their best to distract themselves by playing gin rummy.

Sexual Chocolate sat with Backstreet's security team, alternately exchanging "war stories" about their charges and discussing ways to keep the boys safe during this latest adventure. None of them were exactly sure how to go about being bodyguard to a superhero, but it made for good conversation.

Meanwhile, Johnny spent most of the flight on the phone, canceling upcoming public appearances and taking care of business. Irving Azoff and Howard Kaufman, Backstreet's management team, had declined the invitation to come along.

The plane landed at a specially designated government airfield just outside of Cleveland, where Agents Welsh and Marks were waiting.

"Good morning, thanks for coming, everyone," Welsh greeted them, leading the large group into the building adjacent to the airfield. To Backstreet, he added, "It's good to see you all again. I just wish it was under better circumstances."

"I wouldn't think we'd ever see one another if it wasn't for unpleasant circumstances," Brian pointed out.

Welsh smiled ruefully. "No. Most likely not."

He led them into a conference room with seats enough for all of them and a notebook, pen, and glass of water at every chair. He closed the door once everyone was inside, instructing the uniformed agent outside that nothing short of a nuclear holocaust could possibly be important enough to warrant an interruption.

"We'd better get down to business," he said, when everyone was seated. "First of all, for those who don't know, to my left is Agent Richard Marks. He'll be working with us for the duration of this case."

"Richard Marx?" AJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, man," Justin corrected him. "Marks. M-A-R-K-S."

"Oh." AJ sounded almost disappointed. Marks blushed.

"Alright, now that that's settled...." Welsh rolled his eyes. "I assume you've all read through the files?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Any questions for us?"

Chris raised his hand.

"Regarding this case?"

Chris's hand went down. Kevin's went up to take its place.

"Go ahead, Richardson."

"Was there any nuclear material or radiation involved in all of this? Aside from whatever was in our DNA, I mean."

"No, thank God," Welsh answered. "Our people went through what was left of that facility with a fine-toothed comb, and the site is clean. They weren't trying to create new powers, just duplicate the old ones."

"Do we have any new information about the clones' illness?" Chris asked.

Welsh looked surprised that he'd asked a serious question. "Yes, actually. That's part of what we'll be updating you on, if no one else has questions."

The room was silent.

"Alright, then." Welsh passed several stacks of papers around the table. "This is an addition to the files you already have. We're putting together new packets for you five," he said directly to Backstreet, "but those won't be ready until after this meeting. In the meantime, we'll be briefing you on most of this, anyway." He paused and took a sip of his water. "There are three main updates. One, as Chris asked, we do have more detailed information about the health of the two clones. Two, Lance, we have people looking into the murders you reported this morning, and we expect to have a location soon. Three, we have some insight into the minds of the clones. We think the McLean clone may be the weak link that will help us locate these two."

AJ made a face. "It really creeps me out that there's another me running around somewhere. And a homicidal one, at that."

"He may not be homicidal," Marks said, then quickly shot an apologetic look at Welsh. "But we'll get to that later."

Welsh smiled slightly. "No, go ahead. We don't need to do this in any particular order."

"Oh." Marks cleared his throat and took a gulp of his water. "Okay, well, we have three scientists in custody who are being cared for at a hospital nearby. One of them was part of the group observing the batch of clones that our two came from. He says that number 169—that's the McLean clone—is not dangerous at all; it's the Dorough clone we need to look out for."

"Howie?" Nick looked doubtfully over at his bandmate. "For real?"

"For real," Marks nodded. "Remember, these clones may have been created from your DNA, but they're separate people, with their own distinct personalities. Nature versus nurture, you know."

"Um...." Nick flushed slightly. "I had bus school."

"Me, too," Justin admitted sheepishly.

"Oh." Marks was quiet for a moment, thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the table. "It's like... who you are comes from a combination of traits you were born with and traits you developed through the years based on your life experiences. A person can be born naturally outgoing, but maybe their parents constantly scolded and punished them for being too wild and too loud, or they got humiliated in school a lot, so as an adult they're much more quiet and shy. You see?"

"Oh, okay, yeah," Nick nodded. "I get that. Thanks."

"Yeah, cool," Justin added.

Marks beamed.

"Hey, are you some kind of genius?" Chris asked with sudden interest.

"Well...." Marks went a deep shade of red.

"Some kind," Welsh confirmed. "Above average on all of the standard tests."

"Cool!" Chris bounced a little. "You and me can talk genius-talk. None of these plebes can understand me."

"That's not because you're a genius," Kevin deadpanned. "It's because you're weird."

"Whatever, Gertrude."

Kevin rolled his eyes and AJ snickered behind his hand.

"Anyway," Marks began, then looked around as if for permission to continue, "Right. So, the Dorough clone—number 128—is the one we need to really look out for. The other clones in his batch were all afraid of him, and for good reason. He.... It looks like he killed the Richardson, Carter, and Littrell clones before he destroyed the research facility."

"What?" Howie gasped, visibly disturbed.

"I'm afraid so. The clones were monitored at all times, and though the tapes were lost, our three suspects have confirmed it."

"Why didn't they stop him?" Howie demanded. "They just let him do it?"

"They didn't care," Welsh told him grimly. "None of the clones were perfect specimen, and they were thought of more as animals than human beings. The researchers considered it a learning experience."

Howie looked sick.

"Why didn't he kill 169, then?" Joey asked. "Why let him live, and then bring him along when he escaped?"

"We're not sure." Welsh frowned, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. "169 did beg for his life, we know that much, but no one knows why he's still alive but 128 himself."

Marks took up the narrative. "128 is a sociopathic killer. He takes pleasure from causing pain in others. He was constantly abusive to the other clones in his group, and was especially cruel to 169 and 154, the Carter clone. He took his time killing 154, and he made 169 watch the whole thing."

"And that's what will give us our edge," Welsh interjected decisively. "Our suspects tell us that 169 was very close to 154. If anything can convince him to break away from 128, it will be the memory of his friend. Maybe we can use that." He looked pointedly at Nick, who fidgeted before looking away.

"It seems so cruel," Brian said slowly, his own eyes on Nick. "Nick isn't 154, no matter how much they may have looked alike."

"No," Welsh agreed, "But it may be our best chance at capturing him peacefully."

"Let's just leave that for a minute," Kevin suggested, trying to alleviate the tension in the room. "What about their health? You said you had more information about that?"

"Yes." Welsh nodded, letting the subject drop. "Both clones are suffering from a strange sort of wasting disease. It's not an illness we can put a name to, as it's probably a result of the procedures used to create and age the clones. In any case, it's affecting each of our fugitives in different ways. 169's symptoms come mostly in the form of eye and sinus infections, as well as increasingly frequent migraines. In 128's case, the illness isn't affecting him physically as it did the others. Instead, it attacked his mind, and that makes him doubly dangerous. He's in relatively good physical health, and he's got nearly perfect control over his powers."

"Okay." Justin looked around at the rest of them. "So what's our next step?"

"The research facility—or what's left of it—is fairly close by," Welsh answered. "We thought you might look around and maybe—" he spoke directly to Lance. "—pick something up."

Lance shuddered.

~*~

"What were you gonna ask, Kirkpatrick?" AJ asked, falling into step beside Chris as they followed Welsh and Marks out of the building and toward the waiting cars.

"Huh?" Chris blinked at him, confused.

"When you raised your hand in the meeting," AJ clarified. "What were you gonna ask?"

"Oh, that. I was gonna ask if he was seriously expecting a nuclear holocaust like he said to that guard. 'Cause with our luck?"

AJ nodded. "Yeah. Nuclear holocaust every second Tuesday." He looked back at Nick, who was trailing behind them all, his head down and his hands deep in his pockets. "I keep thinking about that clone," he admitted. "Mini-me, I mean. I can't imagine having to watch my boys die right in front of me. It must've been horrible."

"I know," Chris nodded. "I've been trying not to think about it."

"Nick's taking it pretty hard."

"He doesn't want to use 169's love for 154 against him, and frankly, I don't blame him."

"And Howie." AJ shook his head in disbelief. "Nature versus nurture, yeah, but still! D's the sweetest guy in the world! I can't get my head around it."

"We'll probably have to kill him, you know. 128, that is, not Howie."

"Yeah, I figured." AJ put his hands into his pockets, unconsciously mimicking Nick's posture.

"Are you okay with that?"

"Not really, but it doesn't really seem like we're gonna have a choice."

"If there's any other way," Chris assured him, "we'll find it."

"Good."

~*~

Lance wandered aimlessly through the empty halls of the destroyed research facility, only vaguely aware of Kevin's silent presence behind him. That presence had been there, just beyond his peripheral vision, ever since the end of the meeting with Welsh and Marks. Lance could feel Kevin's genuine concern for him as something of a warm blanket that dampened the worst of his agitation. In his own group, only JC had as calming a presence—or Joey, when he was with Briahna. Chris and Justin both were anything but calming. Even when quiet and outwardly still, their very personalities crackled and spit all around them like flames.

He let his thoughts wander as he walked the blackened and still slightly smoky halls. Deep in his subconscious, he could hear the cries of children with his friends' faces. Their misery and pain had been palpable, and it still lingered here, long after their deaths. He idly wondered how this place was affecting Brian—if the children's spirits were still here, crying out for comfort and love.

But even more disturbing than that was the rage. Beneath the ghost of pain and misery was a thread of pure rage unlike anything Lance had ever felt before. Even muted and dispersed it pained him, and he shied away from it, closing himself off to it. There was a threat in it—a seductiveness. He could get trapped in it, if he let down his guard.

Lance snapped back into reality with a jolt, blinking in surprise at the suddenness of it. Confused, he looked around, finding himself in a small room—more of a cell, really—with the remains of five cots by the walls and a tiny washroom off to the side. He sucked in a breath, staggering to the wall and putting a hand out to catch himself. "It's their room," he said shakily, as Kevin stepped forward in alarm, ready to catch him if he should fall.

Their auras were strong here. He supposed he'd been following them all along, even if he hadn't realized it. 144, Kevin's clone, had slept on the first cot by the door. He had been in constant pain, his bones brittle and his muscles weak. It had brought only relief when 128 had snapped his neck and finally set him free.

Lance whimpered, feeling himself getting caught up in the vision—in their memories—but he couldn't break free. Kevin's normally solid presence felt like the touch of a ghost.

The Brian clone, 162, had inhabited the next cot. He, too, had lived a life of pain and misery, the tumor in his brain growing rapidly. He called the multitude of ghosts in this place his brothers, and had gone gladly with them when they beckoned. He had barely felt the pain of his own violent death.

154 was next. Smaller than he should have been, thin and pale, his blue eyes always red, watery, and swollen. The frequent nosebleeds had left him weak and sickly, but despite his illness and the hopelessness of their situation, he wanted to live. He and 169 would like awake at night, talking quietly about the world outside and all they would do when they were set free. They would purchase a home together, with a pool and a tennis court, and they would have three dogs.

154's endless optimism had infuriated 128, and he had taken his time killing him, causing as much pain as he could before striking the final blow. 154 had spent his final moments in pain and terror—and confusion, as the man he had thought was his one true friend stood silently, watching him die.

Next, 169, who dreamed of freedom but knew only captivity. Who dreamed of light but knew only darkness. 169, whose own fear and cowardice had lost him his chance to join his best friend in death, and hopefully, peace.

And finally....

Lance made one last, desperate attempt to escape the vision, feeling that underlying rage swell and grow, but was too late.

It enveloped him, coursing through his body like a lightning strike, burrowing into his brain like millions of starving maggots. He screamed and lashed out against the madness, but it had already taken hold.

Dimly, he was aware of Kevin's answering scream as he was thrown away, and the loud, sharp crack as the other man's body hit the wall, but couldn't really bring himself to care.

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