JC makes lists, sometimes, when he has nothing to do, or when he's nervous about something. He knows he's a useless waste of air down here, so he makes a list of things he's good at. He speaks three languages - useless, because there is no one to talk to. He can write blank verse - useless, because there is hardly any paper, and what there is can't be wasted on poetry. He can sing - useless, because his voice echoes hollowly in the tunnels, and if he sings for long, someone comes and yells at him to shut the hell up. Sound travels oddly down here.
He had an orchid in his room, before. When he had a window. It was a hybrid phalaenopsis with thick, dark green leaves and a flower that looked like a yellow star with a smattering of dark red and purple.
Sometimes he lists places he's been. That's not a very long list.
They have a set time. Once a week, on Sunday evenings, seven pm. JC waits by the pump house behind the old fire station. He was on his way up when Chris caught up with him, grabbed his arm, wild-eyed and frantic. "Are you going to see Lance?" he asked, as if this was important, suddenly; as if he hadn't made a crack about JC's uptown boy just last night.
"Yes," JC said. He was a little late, and Chris was still hanging onto his sleeve.
"JC," Chris said. "JC. Justin's gone."
JC didn't say anything, because he couldn't think of anything profound enough. He thought it would happen. There was no way anyone could give up that much just to be with someone.
"Could you ask Lance to look around?"
JC frowned. That didn't make sense. "Why would Lance know where he went?"
"His dad's the fucking Chief of Police!" Chris snapped. "Of course he knows!"
"But--"
"They took him," Chris said, and JC could almost hear the 'you moron' he was holding back. "He was hurt. They took him."
"Oh," JC said quietly. Chris tugged at his sleeve.
"Ask him."
"Okay."
Now he's standing in the thick shadows by the pump house, listening to the humming of the machinery and making a list of everyone who needs him.
1. Chris. 2. Justin.
It's a very short list.
Then Lance steps around the corner and into a circle of yellow streetlight, and JC adds him to the list. He wouldn't show up if he didn't need to, would he? He doesn't have to be here.
"Hi," JC says.
"Hi," Lance says. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," JC says, because everything is okay, just now. Well, except - "I have to ask you a favour," he adds, reluctantly. He wants to help, he does. He wants to be useful, but it's hateful to keep asking Lance for things. He doesn't want Lance to think he only comes up to meet him because Lance's dad is the Chief of Police and it's good to have an inside connection.
But Lance just smiles gently at him and says, "sure, baby. What is it?"
"Chris was going nuts earlier," Joey tells him later, when JC is sitting on his mattress, bouncing Baby on his knee. "I think he's gonna try something."
"Like what?" JC asks. Baby stretches out her tiny hands at him and gurgles and grins toothlessly. She has Joey's thick, black hair, but her eyes are pale blue.
"He's gonna try to find Justin, I guess. Did you tell Lance to look around?"
"Yeah. He said he would," JC says, feeling a little pinch of pride.
"Go tell Chris, okay? I think he's down in the monitor room, yelling at them for not keeping an eye on the kid. Not like they could have done anything, but you know Chris."
"Yeah," JC says. He knows Chris, and he hands Baby back to Joey and goes to find him, and when he does, he hugs him and says, "It'll be okay," even though he knows it won't.
"I'm gonna find him, 'C," Chris says, and his eyes are flat and dark, like he's already looking down the barrel of a gun at whoever dared hurt Justin.
"I'll help," JC says, but his voice is a little shaky.
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